Some Kind of Mysterious
by DanniFielding
Summary: "Dull brown?" She asked Sherlock as they headed out of the school grounds. "I believe bright blue is considered more attractive when paired with blonde hair." He explained, "Although, with your hair being more of a brown-blonde maybe you can get away with it more." - Eventual Sherlock/OC... Eventually.
1. That Was Then

_Hello everyone ^_^ This is a new story in a new fandom for me, please be kind XD. This is sort of a side-fic, something I'm going to add to when I need a bit of a break from my main Doctor Who story, so it will be updated as often as I can, but not on any schedule like my other fic. But as a way of procrastinating from writing what I'm supposed to, I tend to write other unrelated things so it could be updated often. Who knows, eh?_

_Just be kind XD_

_And enjoy._

_And review._

_But mainly enjoy XD_

_~0~0~0~_

Mary Hudson pulled her back up onto her shoulder, it catching on her blazer in a fight of friction. Her school uniform was a horrific pleated calf-long skirt with blazer and white blouse, her backpack filled with too many books for anyone to ever read in one day. Most of the other students had headed to the dining hall for lunch, but Mary had been to meet with her chemistry teacher for a bit of help on her homework. Her footsteps echoed through the old stone hallway, the occasional person darting out of rooms as she headed towards the stairwell to go to lunch herself.

"Move out of the way!" Someone shouted behind her and she turned at the top of the stairs to see a boy charging at her on a set of wheels, crashing into her ungracefully. She screamed as she stumbled backwards, her body stopping the boy but the force causing her to tumble backwards and fall down, hitting each stair on her way down before coming to a stop at the bottom. Pain blurred her vision as her ankle bent the wrong way underneath her and she immediately began sobbing, clutching her arm to her chest and a trail of blood ran down her forehead. The boy rushed down the stairs, kneeling in front of her and removing her bag from her arm, "Are you all right?" He asked her and she shook her head.

"No, I'm not!" She cried, "My leg hurts!"

"You've broke it." He told her simply, "Mycroft has gone to fetch Dr Simms."

"What the hell were you doing Sherlock?" She sobbed.

"An experiment." He replied simply, "I was bored." She smacked him with her good hand, gasping in pain as her shifting pressed down on her leg.

"I hate you." She sniffled.

"No you don't." He replied with a cocky smirk.

_~0~0~0~_

Mary hobbled down the hallway, sporting a fetching pair of crutches, as she headed to lunch once more. She'd taken great care since falling down the stairs to check every shadow before making her way slowly down towards the dining hall. A figure appeared beside her, hands clasped behind him as he walked by her side; Head Boy Mycroft Holmes.

"I believe I should thank you for not telling the Headmaster that it was Sherlock who pushed you down the stairs." He stated stiffly. She would have shrugged if she hadn't had a crutch in each arm, so it came across as more of a muscle spasm.

"He didn't mean to do it." She replied, "Why get him into trouble for an accident? He can do that easily enough on his own."

"Still, it would be gentlemanly to offer my gratitude." He told her, "How is your ankle, by the way?"

"Fine." She said, a slightly surprised look on her face at the fact he did look slightly concerned for her, "Thanks for asking."

"I felt I should. Sherlock wouldn't deem it necessary to check up on the girl he shoved down the stairs."

"Not true." He held the door to the dining room open, the sounds of the students inside intensifying greatly, "He told me I should pull my bag strap up otherwise I'd trip. That's practically a guilt-ridden rant of apology from him." Mycroft smiled slightly, well, grimaced but it was the same for the older boy.

"Quite right. You seem to know my younger brother quite well." She smiled, nodding over to Sherlock who was looking at the pair in disdain, sat on his own in the corner of the room he was forced to stay in over the lunch break. They'd found his transportation device, but she'd sworn blind he hadn't knocked her so all they could do was contain him for creating an unauthorised skateboard.

"Yes, I do." She placed a kiss on his cheek, surprising the Sixth-former as she headed over to Sherlock, sitting in the chair in front of him, "What's wrong with you?" She asked him as he watched his brother join the rest of his little minions. He had quite the gang in their school, keeping his fingers in as many pies as he could.

"Why were you with _him_?" He snarled, glaring at his brother.

"He was apologising on your behalf. You going to each them?" She motioned to his plate of chips and he shook his head.

"Pompous arse." He snapped and she giggled with a nod, picking up one of his untouched chips and munching on it.

"Yeah, I know." She replied, "Still, was nice of him. Thanked me for not turning your arse in as well."

"As if you would." Sherlock declared confidently, "You'd never do that to me."

"Too right." She picked another chip up, "Who else would I copy off in class?" She pushed the plate closer to him, "Here, eat these."

"I don't eat when I'm bored." He dismissed and she shook her head.

"Eat it, Holmes." She snapped and he sighed like the petulant child he was before picking up a chip, biting off the end dramatically.

"There, happy?" She nodded with a big smile on her face.

"Muchly."

_~0~0~0~_

"Why do you hang out with him?" James Shearsmith taunted harshly, "He's a freak." His cronies laughed as they surrounded Mary and Sherlock in the yard outside the front doors of the main school building, heading home to study for their final exams before leaving the school forever.

"No, he's not." She snapped back, knowing that she had to defend him because Sherlock would never stand up for himself. Mainly because he didn't care what people thought, but she did, "Piss off, Shearsmith."

"Oooo." The group called before cackling once more.

"He doesn't fancy you, you know?" James told her, nodding to Sherlock, "Probably doesn't know the difference between a girl and boy."

"He's seen more of a girl than you ever will." She retorted, "Piss off before I kick your arse, again." She could as well, she'd done it before. One smack and he'd be down. He always was.

"Shut it, you skanky whore." He threw his new insult at her and Sherlock seemed to tense beside her, as if he'd just finally joined their conversation.

"No, that's your mother." Sherlock stated simply, "Although, if one is to be a 'whore' then that would involve the trade of sexual activities for money, rather than the scholarship that she had to fight for you to have after your father gambled all your family's riches on the horses." Mary laughed heartily at the outraged look on James' face. Oh, when had Sherlock found that out? She needed details.

"Take that back." James snarled.

"And," Sherlock continued, as if the boy hadn't interrupted him, "Whilst her jawline is slightly too chunky, her hair frizzy at the best of times and her eyes too dull a brown to be considered conventionally attractive, at least she hadn't followed in the family trait of large flat foreheads and, quite frankly, wing-like ears of yours, Shearsmith. Goodbye." He turned and walked off, dragging Mary with him who reached up to her hair, feeling the small hairs sticking up in her apparently frizzy hair.

"Dull brown?" She asked Sherlock as they headed out of the school grounds.

"I believe bright blue is considered more attractive when paired with blonde hair." He explained, "Although, with your hair being more of a brown-blonde maybe you can get away with it more."

_~0~0~0~_

Mary stood on the small step stool she needed to get a full torso view of herself in her bathroom mirror over the sink. She ran the cold tap, dampening her fingers to try and calm down her hair.

_Her hair frizzy at the best of times._

She hadn't thought her hair too frizzy, it had been windy that day after all, but maybe she should take care of her appearance more.

_Jawline is slightly too chunky._

She tilted her head, pulling her hair out of the way and grimaced at they way her chin and jaw stuck out. God, she looked like that guy out of the Beano, Dangerous... no _Desperate_ Dan. How had she never noticed that before?! Oh god, she needed to get a new haircut to hide her cheeks. She sucked them in, but it didn't help, it just highlighted her jawbone. She let her cheeks out, but when she did that she looked like a hamster.

_To be considered conventionally attractive._

James had hit a nerve, taunting her about fancying Sherlock, although thankfully the boy always seemed blissfully unaware of the attention she craved from him. She'd been happy about that, he never showed interest in _anyone, _but to know he'd looked at her and dismissed her really hurt. Even the boy who didn't find anyone attractive found her hideous.

She tilted her head again, her eyes catching a glistening piece of metal that seemed to reflect in the tears in her eyes. Maybe she should do something about it. If only she had a thinner jawline, then she could sort everything else out. She'd dissected loads of different animals in Biology, how would this be any different?


	2. And This Is Now

_Ready for a bit of a shift? Me too XD_

_~0~0~0~_

"I just don't understand how you knew I had the flat, dear." Mrs Hudson opened the door to her basement flat, letting the brunette woman in. She was dressed casually in jeans and a white shirt, her shoulder-length blonde hair pulled up into a messy ponytail and there was a pair of glasses perched on her nose, "It's not even up for rent. The damp's just too expensive to fix."

"I have a friend who told me you had a spare apartment." The woman replied, pulling her small suitcase in behind her, "I have a bit of money, but I need somewhere cheap until I find a new job. This seemed perfect whilst still being in London." Mrs Hudson flicked on the light switch, illuminating the reasonable sized room in a yellow glow. There was a window on one of the walls, but it was small and at the top by the ceiling so it didn't really add much natural lighting to the room. There was no furniture, but a small kitchenette was lying one side with an outdated fridge-freezer and a cooker.

"Bedroom's just though there. It has a shower room on the other side." The woman nodded, walking over to the door Mrs Hudson indicated to and opening it to reveal a small but usable room with another door leading to the shower room.

"It's perfect." She stated, turning to face Mrs Hudson, "Here's what I'm proposing. The damp is quite a problem, so I will pay to have it fixed, but in return I won't pay rent for three months."

"Oh, I don't know." Mrs Hudson said, flustered by the sudden talk of the woman moving in.

"This is just dead space, you aren't making any money off it. This way you don't have the expense of treating the damp and then you'll be getting a return." Mrs Hudson nodded slowly, she made a good point.

"Okay, dear." She paused for a moment, "But what about furniture? I'm afraid the damp destroyed everything else I had in here."

"Don't worry about that, Mrs Hudson. I have my own belongings, they'll fit in here nicely." She pulled out her mobile, switching the internet on, "I shall hire a tradesman to come have a look at the damage to the walls. I'll move in today, the removal van will be here shortly with the rest of my stuff." She glanced up at Mrs Hudson and smirked slightly at the surprised look on her face, "My friend informed me I was pretty much guaranteed the flat. Don't worry, he's not evil, he's just a pompous arse." Mrs Hudson, overwhelmed by the fact she suddenly had another tenant, just turned to leave before pausing.

"What did you say your name was, dear?" She asked.

"Oh, I didn't." She woman replied, "It's Faye. Faye Newbarns." She turned back to the phone, ignoring the older woman as she left the flat. Mrs Hudson climbed up the stairs, pausing on the ground floor to look up at 221B, the flat above her own. Oh, what was Sherlock make of this?

_~0~0~0~_

"Absolutely not." Sherlock snapped about, flopping into his armchair in a huff. John Watson rolled his eyes at the impending temper tantrum he could sense coming from his friend and flatmate.

"Why not?" He asked in reply as Mrs Hudson gasped at the complete refusal from Sherlock, "It's Mrs Hudson's building, if she wants to rent out the basement that's up to her. It's the poor sod's fault for wanting to live in that damp hell."

"She said she's going to fix it up for me." Mrs Hudson told John, not addressing Sherlock while he was in one of his moods, "Instead of paying rent for the time being. It seemed like a good arrangement." John nodded.

"It does. What's her name?"

"It doesn't matter what her name is." Sherlock snapped, "She can't move in. I need that basement."

"For what, exactly?" John asked, exasperated.

"You said I wasn't allowed to bring home dead animals anymore, now where am I supposed to test out the different methods of mutilation?"

"Oh Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed, distraught, "I thought that was wine!"

"You thought wrong." Sherlock barked in reply, "No one is staying the in basement!" He stood up and stalked to his room. John watched him leave, trying to mask his amusement. How old was he supposed to be, again?

"Her name is Faye Newbarns." Mrs Hudson informed John as Sherlock slammed the door closed, "She seemed pretty efficient, one of them high-flying office types. Had already booked the moving men to drop her stuff off today, they were here about a hour ago." John blinked, surprised.

"What? She already assumed she'd be moving in?" Mrs Hudson nodded.

"She said it was guaranteed she'd get the flat." She explained. John glanced back at the door to Sherlock's bedroom.

"Well, she seems to fit in with the rest of your lodgers." He pointed out.

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling as he fumed silently. This was totally unacceptable. There was no way some _woman_ was coming in and ruining his carefully managed equilibrium. He could barely handle John and Mrs Hudson, who were admittedly quite useful for mild entertainment and their attempt to help him when he was bored. Failing miserably most of the time, but nevertheless it was enough of an attempt for him. He didn't want some brain-dead imbecile trying to live underneath their home, what if she tried to interfere in his life? Wanting to be 'friends', inviting herself over? What if John tried to copulate with her, and they'd have a lifetime of awkward meetings ahead of them? What if she interfered in his cases?! He shot up, alarmed. Well, she would have to go. He jumped off the bed and stormed out of his room, striding past Mrs Hudson and a protesting John and down the two flights of stairs, banging on the door of 221C. The door opened, revealing a confused looking woman and he pushed past her, standing in the middle of the flat.

"Get out." He snapped and she blinked at him, shutting the door and heading over to her sofa. Faye had practically unpacked most of her things, she'd been trying to get her Freeview working but the signal was pretty rubbish. She'd have to get a new dish installed on the side of the building.

"Or, hello, as people used to say." She muttered sarcastically, flopping down and picking up her remote, going back to what she was doing, "221B, I'm guessing?" She asked, watching the box search yet again for BBC4.

"Yes, Sherlock Holmes. I'm guessing you've heard of me." He replied and she shrugged.

"I suppose." She muttered, "Faye Newbarns. Can I help you, Mr Holmes? I'm kind of busy moving in."

"Then you're wasting your time. This basement is not for rent, you have to leave."

"Why? Are you currently living in it?" She asked.

"No, but..."

"Oh, do you own it?" She interrupted.

"Obviously not." He snapped in reply.

"Do you have a previous rental agreement with Mrs Hudson over this flat." He sighed angrily.

"No, I don't." He barked.

"You don't live here, own it nor have a rental agreement for the flat?" She repeated, "Then I fail to see why I have to leave, Mr Holmes."

"I use this for... storage." He settled on, not wanting her to have any knowledge of anything he did in his everyday life. She was already infuriating him more and more, she was barely looking at him, "So you have to leave."

"Storage? I suggest you rent a storage unit, Mr Holmes." She shifted on the sofa, turning even more away from him, taking out her phone to check for troubleshooting guides, Sherlock decided after noticing her television wasn't working, "If you'll excuse me, I have better things to do than deal with a grown man's temper tantrum." He pointed to the door.

"Get out!" He shouted angrily. She looked up, slightly surprised by the volume of his voice then smiled.

"Okay." She stated simply and he deflated, shocked by her quick turnaround, "Make me."

"Make you?" He repeated slowly, bemused by her attitude.

"Yes. You want me out so much, make me." She challenged, "But you'll have to take all my furniture out, because I'm not doing it."

"I..." His own phone rang before he could give her his own retort and he answered it quickly, "What?" He snapped.

"_I believe you're having a hissy fit at your new neighbour?" _Mycroft's voice came calmly from the other side of the call.

"Oh, what do you want?" Sherlock snapped, the mere voice of his brother riling him up even more.

"_Do I have to call mother?" _Mycroft asked him, "_I believe she's due for a visit._"

"How did you know I had a new neighbour? Been watching me again?" Sherlock asked, ignoring the threat of his parents visiting.

"_I have my sources._" Mycroft replied, "_Do play nice._"

"Play nice?" Sherlock raged. How dare his brother talk to him like he was still a child? He frowned suddenly, "_'Sources'?_" He repeated before hanging up, "John!" He screamed, tearing out of the basement and leaving Faye staring at him, thoroughly amused by his stange behaviour.

"What a peculiar man." She stated to herself simply before going back to her television.

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock stormed back into his own apartment, glaring at John, who jumped at being caught with Mrs Hudson listening to him shouting downstairs.

"You ratted me out to my brother?!" Sherlock exclaimed, "Grow up!" He stormed into his room, slamming the door shut again. John's mouth dropped slightly.

"I didn't call your brother!" He shouted in reply. Why would he ever willingly talk to Mycroft Holmes?

"Well," Mrs Hudson started after they stood in silence for a moment, "How about I pop on the kettle and you can come meet Miss Newbarns?" John nodded, shooting the older woman a kind smile.

"I'd like that, thank you Mrs Hudson." He said, almost apologising for Sherlock's behaviour. He didn't need to, Mrs Hudson was more than used to his infantile behaviour at the worst of times, but still, she didn't need him stalking around.


	3. The Barenaked Ladies

_I'm glad you seem to be enjoying the story so far :) Keep letting me know what you like, what I could improve on._

_I've not decided when this is set. It's pre-fall, but I'm not sure how pre-fall it is. I'll let you know when I have XD_

_~0~0~0~_

Faye tightened the tie on her dressing gown as she headed to her front door, calling to the person behind it to wait a minute. She threw it open to see a sheepish John Watson stood there with a plain white carrier bag in hand.

"It was a white dress, John." She snapped, stepping out of the way to let him in, "It's ruined. I liked that dress."

"I know, I'm sorry." He replied, heading towards her kitchenette where he pulled two plates out of one of the cupboards, "I tried to make him apologies, but you know what he's like."

"Yes, he's a pompous arse." She retorted, "Chow mein?" She asked and he nodded, spooning out some of the noodle dish onto one plate before setting to plating his own food up.

"Chicken." He confirmed and she picked up the plate, fishing out two forks from a drawer and handing him one before heading to her sofa, making herself comfortable.

"Why did he even have a bucket of pig's blood? What could he possibly be doing with that?" John shrugged, sitting next to her.

"He wouldn't tell me. He gets bored when there's no interesting cases, just another of his little 'experiments'."

"Well, tell him he owes me for that dress. It was expensive too." She pointed out, taking a bite out of her food, "How's the blog coming along?" She asked, getting off the unfortunate incident on the stairs a couple of hours previously.

"Not bad." John replied, swallowing a mouthful of rice, "The advertising revenue is slowly picking up. It's helping us pay the rent in any case. How's the job hunting going?" Faye shrugged.

"Think I might have something at a bar a few streets away. Just an entertainer slash barmaid, but it's better than nothing."

"Still no office work?" She shook her head.

"It's probably for the best. The reason I lost my last job was because the stress got to me and I chucked a stapler at my supervisor. Might be nice to be a bit calmer these days." John nodded.

"Someone must be looking out for you." He joked, frowning as she paused with her fork just touching her lips, as if something had just occurred to her.

"Son of a bitch." She whispered and John shifted on the sofa.

"Sorry, what?" He asked, surprised at the insult. She jumped, as if she'd forgotten he was there, then shot him a smile.

"Oh, not you." She reassured him, "But nevermind that. When are you seeing that girl, Claire was it?" She shifted the conversation, "She was very pretty."

"Saturday." He told her with a slightly goofy smile, "We're just going to the pictures then for a meal. Nothing fancy, just a simple night out." She nudged him.

"Heading back to her place, maybe?" She teased and he shook his head, embarrassed.

"No. Maybe. It depends." He stuttered and she laughed.

"Oh, I'm just teasing you, John." She told him, "I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time." They fell silent, eating their food as they watched the local news on BBC1, when John's phone rang.

"_Where are you?_"Sherlock barked down the phone.

"At Faye's." John replied, "I told you I was having dinner here tonight."

"_I'm bored._" Sherlock told him, "_I need a case. Find me one._" John rolled his eyes at the phone as Faye sighed, putting her fork down on her plate, turning back to the news.

"No, Sherlock. I'm having a night off. Find yourself one."

"_You're my assistant, it's your job to keep me entertained._"

"My job?!" John exclaimed indignantly, "I'm not your pet monkey!" Faye reached over, snatching the phone out of his hand.

"Yo, arsehole." She greeted, "BBC1, woman body's been found up town. Apparent suicide."

"_Who is this?_" Sherlock asked, purposefully trying to rile her she suspected.

"It's Faye from downstairs, remember?" She snapped.

"_Oh, you're moving out, aren't you?_" He asked. She could practically hear the smirk in his voice and her grip tightened on the phone, John worrying for a moment she was going to break it.

"My stuff's still here." She replied calmly despite her clenched teeth, "If it was just a suicide, why had it had a three minute segment on prime time BBC?" There was a pause and she nodded, "John will be about two minutes. Be useful for once and call a cab." She hung the phone up and handed it back to John, "There, sorted. Meet him upstairs. Make sure he wears a scarf, it's quite cold." John frowned.

"Are you actually concerned for him?" She rolled her eyes, sitting back on the sofa and chucking her feet up onto the coffee table in front.

"I don't want to have to deal with an ill Sherlock, do you?" John conceded her point.

"I can't just leave."

"Yes you can." She corrected, "Go, John." He smiled apologetically and took her plate to the kitchen.

"I'll come back tomorrow night." He promised as he left. She sighed, watching him go sadly.

"Maybe." She whispered before taking her phone out, dialing a number she knew off by heart, "Hello, I believe we need to have a chat about why I can't get a job."

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock paced backwards and forwards in the well-worn patch on his living room carpet, trying to figure out how the woman of a recently murdered woman could have killed her in her North London apartment when he was holidaying in Southern France. He knew it was the brother, the woman in question had suspect interests in his furniture warehouse. But it was just the how.

She had overdosed, but there was a bruise on the back of her head that suggested someone had tried to knock her out before she'd been injected. There was no husband, or wife, or any partner of any kind...

_It's been one week since you looked at me_

_Cocked your head to the side and said "I'm angry"_

He, along with John, jumped at the sudden attack of the Barenaked Ladies.

"What the hell is that?" He exclaimed, turning to John to find his chair completely empty, "Oh yes, you went to the shop." He checked his watched, "Three hours ago."

_Three days since the living room_

_I realized it's all my fault, but couldn't tell you_

_Yesterday you'd forgiven me_

_but it'll still be two days till I say I'm sorry_

"Newbarns." He snarled, storming down the stairs towards the 221A, Mrs Hudson popping her head out of her front door.

"Oh Sherlock, leave the girl be." She exclaimed but the Consulting Detective ignored her, dashing down the next flight of stairs and banging on the door, just under the 221C in gold characters. There was no answer, he didn't expect there to be one over that dreadful sound, so he threw the door open. There she was, hair up in a towel as she pranced in the kitchen, making a cup of tea. The music was blaring out of speakers connected to a laptop computer and he stormed over, slamming the lid shut. There was a moment, then the music stopped.

"_Cause it's so dangerous, you'll have to sign a wai_... What are you doing here?" She snapped, "I was listening to that."

"Yes, and so was the rest of the house. Kindly listen to your music on headphones until you move out." She sighed, walking over and opening the lid again.

"My stuff is still here. I think you're all talk, arse." She bit out.

"You're insults are very mundane and repetitive." He retorted.

"Oh, I am sorry." She replied sarcastically, "I shall endeavor to try harder next time. Any suggestions?"

"Freak is quite a popular one." He replied, "But I'm not doing your dirty work for you. Please refrain from playing your music at a ridiculous level." She straightened up, glaring at him as she spun.

"I'd never call you that." She snapped, "Ever. I'll listen to it on headphones, please leave." He frowned, reaching out and grabbing her face by the chin, forcing her head to the side.

"You have a scar on your face." He stated lowly, "Why have I never seen it before?" She stepped back.

"Because you pay attention to no one but yourself. Please leave."

"Sherlock?" John appeared in the doorway and spotted the pair, sighing in annoyance, "What have you done now?"

_~0~0~0~_

Twin brothers. She'd had twin brothers, one had been in France, the other had killed her. How'd he not seen it? It was very troublesome when he missed something so obvious. And it had been the most interesting thing to come up in a while. That had also been annoying. How had that woman downstairs managed to bring him a case? She'd stopped playing her music loudly, which had worked in his favor and he'd cracked it pretty much straight way, although he'd had to listen to John berating him about bursting into her flat unannounced.

"She wasn't answering her door." He sighed, slouching into his chair as John hovered over him. He wasn't a child, John decided, he was a teenager. A petulant teenage boy who spent his time thinking the world owed him something for ignoring him for so long, "How was I supposed to tell her to turn the music down when she wasn't answering her door?" She had a scar on her face, just under her ear. It was jagged but a clean shape, so deliberate? Boyfriend, maybe? Husband? She didn't have a ring line, but the scar was old, maybe they split a good few years ago?

"She might have been... indecent." John settled on, motioning down the stairs. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Perhaps it was a parent? He'd seen worse things done in the name of child cruelty, could have been a punishment?

"She's always indecent." He retorted, "And noisy, and coming in and out at strange times of the day." She didn't seem to be hiding anything. He would know, of course. He always knew. She wasn't a criminal. She didn't have the brain capacity for that. Although, they weren't always bright sparks were they?

"She works in a bar." John defended, "Of course she does. And I mean, she could have been getting dressed or something."

"Oh." Sherlock nodded, "You mean naked?" He shrugged, "Not a problem, it doesn't offend me. I'm not a prude, John." He stood up, "Stop your worrying." John growled in frustration as he watched Sherlock walk over to the window.

"No, but she might have minded. Women mind when strange men burst in on them getting changed."

"She knows me." Sherlock replied, pulling the blind back to see a black car pull up outside, Mycroft climbing out of the back, the door being held open for him, "Oh Lord, my brother's here. Lock the door, turn the lights off. He might think we're out."

"I meant..." Sherlock pushed past him to put the latch on their front door, "_I meant_," He tried again, whispering because he didn't want Mycroft there any more than Sherlock did, "strange, as is odd."

"Oh." Sherlock paused, crouching behind the door. John joined him, "I see your point. Okay, no more bursting in unannounced."

"Thank you." John told him, reluctantly grateful. They stayed crouched, but there was no footsteps, nor anyone trying to open the door. Sherlock scuttled, like a crab much to John's amusement, to the window but the car was still there.

"What's he doing?" Sherlock mused.


	4. Ben and Jerry's

_Still have no idea when to set this. I'm thinking it's happening parallel to Season 1, what do you think? Is there a particular time you'd like it to be set? Or maybe just a general fic with no real place in the show? Let me know, cause I don't have the foggiest :P_

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock headed downstairs the moment Mycroft's car sped away. His feet barely touched each stair as he glided down, much like he always did when he was on a mission, although this time he was still in his dressing gown rather than his well-loved overcoat, although he did still try to flick the collar up before he knocked on the door. He was rather glad John hadn't followed him and seen the error.

"Oh, it's you." Faye replied with a resigned sigh, "I just can't get you Holmes boys to leave me alone today." She stepped out of the way to let Sherlock on. He stalked into the middle of the room, getting ready to pace when he realised her wooden coffee table was in the way. He pushed it out of the way then stood in it's place. Faye stared at him from the doorway, her eyebrows raised in mild amusement but she didn't comment about the rearrangement of her furniture.

"Why was my brother here?" He asked and she sighed, shutting the door behind her.

"He came to offer me money in exchange for information on you." She replied, bored, as she sat down on her sofa, "He apparently worries about you and thought I could be bought."

"You said no then?" He asked and she snorted.

"Hell no." She laughed, "I'm a barmaid. I need the money. He wanted to know what you were doing, so I told him you were bungee jumping."

"Bungee jumping?" He repeated slowly. Oh Lord, a mad woman lived underneath them. And that was coming from a high-functioning sociopath.

"In an infinite number of universes," she started, "with an infinite number of possible time lines, there is one where Sherlock Holmes is indeed bungee jumping." She smirked to herself, "I imagine in a dress. Blue, probably."

"You told him that?" she nodded, "I'm guessing he didn't pay you?" She pulled out an envelope, a rather thick white one.

"Always get the money up first. My daddy taught me well, Sherlikins." She pulled out some of the money before holding it out to him, "Here you go." He took it, raising his eyebrow, amused.

"Sherlikins?" She shrugged.

"Just testing it out." She replied, "I'll think on it a bit longer."

"He will be back, you know?" Sherlock pointed out, "One does not mess with Mycroft Holmes." She nodded.

"I know." She stated, "Show yourself out, arse." They smirked at each other.

"You still have to move out." He called over his shoulder as he left.

"Make me, arsehole."

_~0~0~0~_

"Holmes!" She screamed as she stormed up the stairs towards their flat. John sighed, folding up the newspaper he'd just started reading and placing on the coffee table in front of him with a thud.

"What did you do now?" He asked Sherlock, who was reading in his own chair.

"Nothing." He replied calmly as the door slammed open and Faye stormed in, eye blazing fire and she chucked a carrier bag onto his lap. A hand fell out and John jumped, surprised as Sherlock turned to the next page of his book.

"There was a hand in my freezer!" She screamed at him and he nodded.

"Yes, John said no more limbs amongst our food so I put it in the basement like I normally do." He replied and she made strangling motions towards his neck.

"It's not the basement, it's my flat!" She screamed back and he smirked in glee behind the book.

"Not for long." He said in a sing-song voice and she growled, yanking the book out of his hands and chucking it onto the sofa across the room.

"Where is my ice-cream?" She asked lowly and he shrugged.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't give me that shit, arsehole! I had two tubs of Ben and Jerry's in my freezer, that seem to have been replaced by a hand. Where. is. my. ice-cream?" He sighed, tilting his head in thought as he moved her out of the way, standing up.

"Oh yes. I remember now. I needed to make room, so I had to remove the tubs." He walked over to their kitchen, John hanging his head as he knew exactly where this was going, "Our freezer was full, however, so I couldn't just let it go to waste. It was very tasty, I shall have to try it again sometime."

"You ate my ice-cream?" She asked quietly and he nodded. She saw red, charging at him, "I'm going to fucking kill you Holmes!" He turned and rushed out of the room as she barrelled at him. John stood up, heading to the stairs to watch Sherlock dive out of the house, a grown woman on his tail.

_~0~0~0~_

John knocked on Faye's door, shifting from foot to foot as he waited for her to open it. She was already glaring, probably expecting Sherlock, a large gash on her cheek. She relaxed when she saw John and stepped aside to let him in.

"Sherlock said you'd fallen over." He commented as he walked to the kitchenette, "I got you some more ice cream."

"You shouldn't have done that." She replied, "_He_ should have." She slammed the door shut slightly too hard, "Actually, _he_ shouldn't have laughed when he tripped me up."

"Tripped you up?" John repeated as he put the two tubs of Ben and Jerry's in the freezer.

"Yes. I don't know how he did it, but he tripped me up." She was adamant about this. There had been nothing on the ground, and she wasn't clumsy enough to just trip over her own feet, "This came under my door today." She handed John a piece of newspaper. He frowned, unfolding it then groaning loudly.

"Oh Sherlock!" He exclaimed, staring at the letting listings, a few circled in red pen, like out of a movie, "He's so..." He trailed off before turning to her, "I'm sorry. Ignore him, he's a child."

"He's an arse." She corrected, "Give him this, will you?" She picked up an envelope, a brown one that was quite chunky.

"What is it?" He asked, "It's not a bomb, is it? Because I live there too." She laughed, shaking her head.

"No, it's not a bomb. Or anything dangerous, I promise. Tea?"

"Yes please." She flicked the kettle on and John felt the weight of the envelope again. He couldn't work out what it was, but he wasn't entirely convinced it wasn't anything dangerous.

"Here." She passed him his tea, "Where have you been without His Highness anyway?" They headed to the living area, sitting down on the sofa in unison.

"Someone has to shop for food, otherwise he'd never eat at all." John pointed out.

"Do you do anything without him?" She asked and he paused, trying to recall what he'd last done without him, "What happened with that Claire lass?"

"Oh, I kept having to cancel." He moaned, "I never thought this whole 'Consulting Detective' business would be so time consuming." He went to put his cup onto the coffee table and frowned, finding it strangely absent.

"Where's your coffee table?" He asked, looking around. How'd he missed that?

"Oh, it got in the way." She replied, "I'm sure you'll find someone else willing to date you. Even someone who will work around Holmes' schedule. Or someone who'll work with him. Like a carer." He laughed.

"He's not that bad."

"He ate my ice-cream." She pointed out. John opened his mouth to protest, "He ate my ice-cream to make room for an _arm._" They both stared at each other then started laughing in unison. Faye leant on John's shoulder, cradling her cup of tea.

"Tell me more about him." She commanded, "Like, tell me about one of your cases together. Show me the man you seem to love so much." John pulled a face, shifting so they were both more comfortable.

"I don't love him." He defended.

"Yes you do." She replied, "You adore him. Your life would be dull without him." John nodded, conceding her point. He didn't have many friends outside Sherlock, he could count them on one hand and they weren't exactly close. And they all found Sherlock awful. She did too, but not for the same reasons and she seemed to be warming to him, now it was more of a reluctant annoyance between the pair. And she worked nights, so they were always in at the same time, he could just nip down and see her whenever he wanted. Slowly, she'd become a part of his life, and he really didn't want to lose her because of Sherlock's behaviour.

So he told her a story.


	5. Poundland

_Thank you for all your lovely comments and support. They make me want to write more and more. Nothing really happens in this chapter, but I laughed like a loon writing it, so I hope you enjoy it too :)_

_Anything you'd like to see? Leave me a comment, if I like the idea I'll include it somewhere and give you credit :)_

_~0~0~0~_

Faye chucked her bag over her shoulder, making sure to grab her shopping list before heading for the door. Working nights had really thrown her body clock, so she rarely made it out of her flat during the day. She had to use her rare burst of afternoon energy while she could. She headed out the door to see a figure on the stairs, staring at the door with his elbows resting on his knees and his face on his hands.

"Jesus!" She exclaimed, her heart suddenly going a mile a minute, "Sherlock! What the hell are you doing on my stairs?"

"John said I'm not allowed to enter without knocking." He replied sulkily and she stared, incredulous.

"Then why didn't you knock?" She asked.

"Why did you give me this?" He held out the envelope she'd given John a week or so ago. She smirked.

"It was a response to the lettings adverts pushed underneath my door." She retorted, "That contract shows you I'm staying here indefinitely. Mrs Hudson rather likes me, so I doubt she'll give me notice anytime soon."

"I'm sure I can convince her to." He threatened and she shrugged.

"Go for it, Sherlock." She retorted, "I dare you. Where is John, anyway?" Sherlock grimaced, as if the mere thought of John's whereabouts turned his stomach.

"He got a 'job'." He made quotation marks in the air.

"Oh!" She sighed in realisation, "You're bored, aren't you?" He nodded.

"Extremely. How can you ordinary people live like this?" She rolled her eyes, ignoring what she was assured by John was an unintentional insult.

"Well _this_," she pointed to herself, "ordinary person is going shopping before she also has to work. Entertain yourself. Go play your violin or something." She tried to step past him but he just shifted into her way.

"You have a job as well?" She nodded.

"Yes. Barmaid, remember?" He nodded slowly, "I'm quite surprised you forgot with that great big brain of yours."

"Oh yes. I deemed it unimportant. It's only bar work." He dismissed, "It's not exactly life changing." She closed her eyes, taking a deliberate breath in before breathing out slowly. She couldn't strangle him. She was a grown woman, she wouldn't let him get to her. He wasn't worth prison.

"Be that as it may," She replied, "I still have to do it. Now, I'm going shopping. Entertain yourself until John gets home." She stepped over him.

"How?" He called as she got to the top of the stairs. She sighed again, hanging her head as she berated herself over what she was about to do before looking down the stairs. He looked really sad, sat on the stairs like a child.

"Would you like to come with me?" She asked, hoping the answer would be 'no'. Her heart sank as he jumped up, a big grin on his face.

"You took longer than I expected to ask." He told her and she felt her fingers tensing into themselves, as if they were already forming a fist with which to punch him with, "I'll grab my coat." He hopped past her and up to his flat.

"Oh Lord." She groaned, "I should never leave the house."

_~0~0~0~_

John sighed in satisfaction as he slumped into his chair, a cup of tea in hand and a newspaper resting on the arm, ready for him to read. He had no idea where Sherlock was, but he really didn't care. He'd relax while he had the chance. He lifted the cup to his lips, the warmth tickling his face as he went to take his first sip.

"GET IN THERE NOW!" Faye's voice, full of fury, filled the building and he froze, "NOW, SHERLOCK!" John winced before staring down at his cup of tea longingly. The front door slammed shut and he stood up, newspaper forgotten and he placed the cup on the coffee table on his way past to the flat's front door. It flew open moments before he reached it and Sherlock stalked through with the face of a disgruntled teenager.

"You're overreacting!" He exclaimed, slumping down into his own chair and crossing his arms in a pout. Faye followed him into the flat, her hands clenched in the air, her finger and thumb on each hand pinched together.

"I _really _don't think I am, you deranged arse." She snarled back.

"What did he do now?" John asked her and she spun on her heel to face him, eyes wide and teeth clenched.

"He came shopping with me, it was all going fine until we went to Poundland." John's brows furrowed. It was a small sentence, but it just threw up more questions than answers.

"Poundland?" He settled on and she nodded.

"What? They have good deals on chocolate sometimes." He nodded for her to continue, "I lost him for a bit, but I thought 'he'll be fine, it's a big shop, I'll find him when I'm done.' But was he fine?" She turned to Sherlock, "Was he bollocks!"

"Actually I was quite fine." He replied but he stopped at the maddened gleam to her glare.

"No, he had somehow managed to rearrange _two_ whole shelves to some system only understood by His Highness here." John groaned.

"Sherlock!" He exclaimed.

"Oh no!" She interrupted, "That's not the best bit. He then got into an argument with the manager over the new shop arrangement. This culminated in arsehole here deciding to declare that his 'need to dominate things must originate from the date of his testicle removal'!" John groaned again.

"The man had obviously had one of his testicles removed." Sherlock pointed out, "You could tell from the way he'd tied his shoelaces. This can lead to masculinity issues, hence his need to organise his stock in an almost incoherent way." Faye took a deep breath through her nose.

"Long story short, he got himself banned from Poundland. And me! I've been banned from a fucking Poundland because of this arse!"

"Why would you even want to shop in a place that immediately contradicts it's premise from the moment you walk in the door? I did you a service." She chucked her hands up, wincing in frustration.

"Oh no, I am _not_ getting into this again!" She turned to John, "Next time take him to work with you!" She stormed out of their flat and John turned to Sherlock, unable to form the words he wanted to throw at the man.

"Oh." Sherlock stated flatly, "You're not happy, are you?"

"What gave you that idea? The fact that our neighbour is trying her best to get along with you and you get her _banned from a Poundland?_" John shouted and Sherlock sighed.

"And you want me to get along with her because you're trying to sleep with her?" John's eyebrows shot up.

"Wait, what?" Sherlock sighed again, as if it was so obvious he shouldn't have to be explaining it. He stood up slowly, slouching as he headed to the door.

"I'll go apologise." John threw his hands in the air, wondering why he even bothered.

"Fine. Good." John called after him. Sherlock paused outside Faye's door, his hand on the handle before knocking three times. She chucked the door open, expecting John but her eyes narrowed and she growled at the sight of him, trying to mask the tears that were sitting in her eyes.

"What. do. you. want?" He bowed his head slightly.

"I would like to apologise." He told her, "I may have behaved inappropriately, and in turn upset you." She blinked, the shock of the unexpected apology deflating her anger slightly.

"Yes, you did." She replied before shaking her head, scratching her nose slightly instead of looking at him, "Thank you for apologising. Did John send you?" He shook his head.

"No, but he pointed out that you invited me to go with you, and that I should have behaved in a more suitable manner for shopping. I didn't intend to make you cry." She sniffed, her hand automatically going to her eyes.

"Oh that's..." She trailed off before forcing a smile, "I know you were just trying to help in your own strange little way. I still don't understand why you had toilet roll next to the instant coffee cups."

"It makes the most sense. In the average adult's day, the need for toilet roll comes after the morning cup of coffee."

"Ah, well you see, that's your problem." She told him, "Most people shop by room, not the order that the items will be used in their daily life. You probably would have just confused the masses." He nodded, taking her point.

"That happens more often than you would think possible." They stood in an awkward silence before she smiled shyly at him.

"I've got to get ready for work." She said lamely and he nodded, bowing his head again.

"Have a good night." He turned but she grabbed his arm.

"Sorry for calling you deranged." She leant up and kissed his cheek, "Can you sent John down please? He said he'd walk with me tonight."

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock came back into the flat, startling John who had been waiting for shouting coming from downstairs. Sherlock didn't say a word, heading to his chair he picked John's newspaper out of his hand and he flopped down to read it.

"Well?" John asked after a moment.

"She said go downstairs. You're walking her to work apparently." Sherlock muttered, turning the page onto another mundane subject.

"So no shouting? No cursing? I'm not going to find her dead on the floor, am I?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I am not a child." He snapped, "We settled it like adults." John nodded, actually impressed with Sherlock and he headed to the door to get his jacket, "Oh, if you want to sleep with her, tonight would be the night." John froze with one arm in his sleeve, the other pulling the jacket.

"Again, I have to ask, what?" John called back.

"She's upset. Buy her three drinks, try to space them out a bit. If she's going to sleep with you, it will be tonight."

"I don't... why would you... I'm not even staying, I was just walking her."

"That's your loss." Sherlock muttered. John stared at the wall, not really knowing what to do, then he left Sherlock to... whatever he was doing. Sherlock flipped to the last page of the newspaper before throwing it to the ground, throwing his head back onto the chair back.

"BORED!"


	6. Mycroft Holmes

_Just a bit of an interlude before normal service resumes :)_

_~0~0~0~_

John waited for Faye by the doors of the bar, realising he'd been there for the best part of six hours without Sherlock even contacting him for anything. He hadn't meant to stop, really, but she said she'd buy him a drink to thank him for walking her, and that's turned to two, then three as she talked to him around serving people and her other duties. By the time he'd realised how long he'd been there for, she wasn't far from the end of her shift so he'd stayed to walk her back to their building. It wasn't too far away, and it saved the both two separate taxi fares. The door opened and she smiled as she stepped out to him.

"Thanks for waiting." She told him sincerely and he shrugged, not commenting as they headed down the street. It was uncharacteristically calm for the time of year, not really cold and quite quiet on the road.

"I didn't know you sung as well as served." He stated, not wanting to walk the entire way in silence.

"It's just a hobby." She replied, "They have live bands on most nights, but when there's no one booked we fill in."

"Well, you were very good." He complimented and she beamed at him.

"Aww, you're sweet." She nudged him, "I'll have to get you up on stage next time." He shook his head.

"Oh, no, no no." He protested, "That's not going to happen."

"Oh, why not?" She moaned, "It'll be a laugh."

"Exactly." He retorted, "I get laughed at enough, thank you."

"Fine, don't." She said, still grinning, "But you'll still come back, won't you? I had a right laugh tonight." He took in her hopeful look and couldn't help smiling happily at her.

"Sure."

_~0~0~0~_

John shut the door of the flat, seeing the faint light of the lamp illuminating the front room. He hung his coat up and saw Sherlock typing away on his laptop.

"You hacked my password again?" He asked, not even offended anymore. Sherlock barely looked up at him.

"You make it too easy. Try a harder one next time. Maybe something with more than two numbers in." John nodded, heading to make a cup of tea before he went to bed.

"Tea?" He asked and Sherlock shook his head, "Why do you want my computer anyway?"

"I'm checking up on our friend, Mr Shackles." John pulled a mug out of the cupboard as the kettle boiled.

"You mean the man whose wife disappeared, who left the dog?" Sherlock nodded, "I thought you said it was just a bog-ordinary affair?"

"It is." Sherlock replied, "Incredibly dull, but I suspect he may be involved in a small drug-smuggling operation Lestrade is looking into. He asked me to take a look..." He peaked over the top of the computer, staring at John as he sat across from him, "Did you not buy her the three drinks?"

"I'm not trying to sleep with her." John defended, again, "She's just a friend." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"No she's not." He retorted, "You bought her ice-cream."

"To replace the ones _you_ ate." John pointed out.

"And Chinese food."

"I buy us Chinese all the time!" Sherlock shook his head, wondering how something so obvious could just pass him by.

"And you never bring her up here." Sherlock continued, "Because you want to keep her to yourself." John sighed angrily, standing up.

"Actually, I've invited her to come up here loads." John told him, "But she keeps refusing. I can see why!" He turned and stormed off, shutting the door to his bedroom loudly behind him. Sherlock watched him, slightly amused.

"Well, that was easy." He murmured to himself before turning to his computer screen, the Facebook page of Faye Newbarns open on the browser, "Now, let's see who you are."

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock was playing his violin. John knew this wasn't very good, he was one step away from following him to work. So he left before he could attach himself to John's day. Sherlock watched him dash off, eyebrow raised as he continued on to the end of his piece. Playing the violin was one of the only things that soothed him these days. It was terribly hard to relax when you had a brain that never stopped thinking, deducing, or generally looking out for new information. As soon as John disappeared around the corner a black, government issued BMW pulled up outside, the paintwork spotlessly shiny. He sighed in annoyance, his damn brother, _again_. He prepared himself, deliberating on which notes played together would make the most noise when Faye rushed out, pulling her coat around her as she dived into the back of the car. Sherlock paused, she wasn't even followed by two of Mycroft's men, she'd gone of her own free will. He let the bow of the violin fall to his side, what was going on?

_~0~0~0~_

A mug of tea was placed in front of her and Faye smiled at the intern who had brought it before crossing one ankle over the other, settling into the two-seater sofa she knew Mycroft had brought in just for her. He wouldn't have his office cluttered with such furniture, but she did prefer to lounge with her feet up. The poor intern who had fetched her tea was probably forced to drag it in and out every time they knew she was coming. It was probably the reason she was forced to wait outside in the lobby when they didn't.

"Up to your satisfaction?" Mycroft asked, sitting down in his own chair behind his desk, not a drop of liquid around him. He was on another diet, although Faye constantly told him he really didn't need to lose anymore weight.

"As always." She replied after a sip, "Not even too hot. I know you tell them how I like it." He didn't reply, flicking through a folder that had been left on his desk. Nothing too out of the ordinary, the Koreans were acting up again but when didn't they?

"I hear you were with our Dr Watson last night?" He called over. She smirked behind the cup. Sometimes they didn't talk, she'd just sit there while he worked and then after a period of time known only to him, he'd call her a car and she'd be on her way. Sometimes, however, he had a reason to bring her in.

"He walked me to work, then stayed and walked me back. It was very nice of him, London isn't that safe at night."

"I have offered to have a car pick you up." Mycroft pointed out.

"I'm not having the government ferry me about, Mycroft. That sort of thing ends up in newspapers. Usually accompanied with the word 'scandal'." She narrowed her eyes slightly, "Although, this wouldn't be an issue if I could get a normal office job."

"It's for your own good. You attacked your supervisor last time you were allowed near paperwork." He pointed out patronisingly.

"He was a dickhead." She defended, "I was protecting my sanity. You, above everyone else, know how difficult that is."

"Be that as it may, it might be best for a less stressful job. I know you enjoy singing." She nodded, she did but that wasn't the point.

"That's not the point." She told him, "If I wanted to sing, I'd sing. I want the choice. You already kept Sherlock secret from me. Was I just not supposed to find out your baby brother was living above me?"

"I had hoped you'd keep an eye on him for me, before he got himself into too much trouble. I can only save him from afar for so long. However, you seem to be quite uncooperative over that." She shrugged.

"I told you where he was." Mycroft shot her an annoyed look.

"I very much doubt my brother is baking cookies with Graham Norton." He snapped and she smirked.

"He might be. You just never know with Sherlock, so unpredictable."

"He's not been bothering you, has he?" Mycroft asked and she shook her head.

"I got a phone call off an estate agent, telling me that a flat had just come onto the rental market up in Manchester that would suit my needs to the ground. It was the first one in a few days though, so it's getting better." She explained, "I think John's been trying to get him to leave me alone a bit more. He even apologised to me, which is a big step." She smiled fondly at the thought of the Consulting Detective, staring into her cup of tea.

"Well," Mycroft cleared his throat, startling out of her thoughts, "How about a slice of cake? I do deserve a little treat." She grinned, standing up and walking over to sit on the desk in front of him.

"I thought you'd never ask."

_~0~0~0~_

Faye laid against Mycroft's side as he sat on one side of the couch, her shoes discarded on the floor and the pair held empty plates from the cream-filled sponge cake they'd both just devoured. It wasn't a small one either, and Mycroft was already calculating how much time on his treadmill he'd need to add to burn off all that extra cream.

"You don't need to lose anymore weight." Faye groaned, "Your mother will get worried if you do. You know she doesn't like the fact Sherlock rarely eats, don't give her a reason to be concerned about you as well."

"My mother doesn't come into it." He dismissed.

"I know, that's why I'm telling you to think of her." She replied, "You're a handsome man, don't lose that and become all gaunt." He thought she couldn't see the smirk that briefly crossed his face at the compliment, but even though she didn't comment on it she saw it quite clearly.

"I suppose it's just _one_ cake." He reluctantly conceded and she beamed, closing her eyes as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Do you think Sherlock knows?" She asked him suddenly.

"My dearest brother doesn't see anything unless he is looking for it." Mycroft reassured her.

"I don't want him to hate me. I still don't understand why you sent me to that flat."

"Because you are a grown woman and you need to get over the fear he will set you back." He looked down at her, "You've come such a long way, Faye. Don't let his childishness destroy that hard work." He paused, "I think Dr Watson might ask you out. You should say yes." She laughed slightly.

"Even if that were true," She started before shooting him a look, "Which it isn't, do you reall ythink the best way to ignore Sherlock is to date his best friend?"

"I think a change to your normal pattern will be beneficial." Mycroft explained, "A steady relationship, rather than a couple of weeks and not returning their calls." She shrugged.

"What can I say? Relationships bore me. It has nothing to do with Sherlock, the whole 'dating' thing seems pointless. You go out, have a overpriced, under portioned meal, talk about yourself and then go home with that self-loathing feeling at having to pimp yourself out to someone yet again. I'm happy the way I am, I don't need someone coming along to make me feel inadequate."

"And that is why I sent you to Baker Street." He drawled, "Because you are fine." The door opened and a woman in a black suit stepped in, shooting them both a timid smile.

"Sir, the Iraqi Ambassador will be arriving in five minutes." He sighed, almost as if he was annoyed at the interruption as Faye sat up, grabbing her shoes and slipping them on.

"Thank you Melanie." He drawled and the girl and she darted out again. No one wanted to be the one to interrupt Mycroft Holmes when he was with Miss Newbarns, "I'll call you a car." Faye nodded.

"Thank you." She muttered, not really wanting to go. He picked up the phone on his desk, calling his people who would come fetch her. She still didn't know who they were, but she didn't really want to. She walked over, pulling him into an awkward hug where she wrapped her arms around his waist and he stood rigid. He patted her back twice before pushing her away.

"Do try and behave." He scolded her lightly, "I don't want to have to clean up after you." She laughed slightly.

"Oh there's no fun in that." She retorted, "You think about calling your mother. She worries." The door opened and a slender man in a suit stepped in, "Ah, Jonathan. Please take Miss Newbarns here home." The man nodded once and with a quick graze of her hand on Mycroft's arm, she followed him to the same black car and she was driven home.


	7. Guesswork

_This isn't going to be an epic, like my Doctor Who fic. WEll, I'm not planning on it being anyway. So, here's a little push for the plot. There is one, honest XD Thank you for your lovely comments, I hope what I'm trying to get across works down there._

_~0~0~0~_

Faye opened the door to Baker Street, wondering why she still jumped when she found Sherlock sat there on the stairs. She barely spent any time with the man, but she should have known by now to expect him anywhere. Her heart still went wild in her chest, though, and she placed a hand on it as if she could slow it down.

"Sherlock!" She exclaimed, "Why are you sat there?" He jumped up to his feet, stalking over and towering over her.

"Why did you go with Mycroft?" He asked, "He didn't force you. You went willingly, you knew that car was coming." She rolled her eyes.

"You know it's pointless fighting your brother. I was just updating him on your latest escapades."

"And what did you tell him?" Sherlock stared her down, trying to intimate her into telling the truth.

"That you'd been baking cookies with Graham Norton." She recited, "It must have been quite the honour, I've always been a big fan. The chatshow's not as good as when it was on Channel 4, but I do still enjoy it."

"You were gone too long for you just to be telling him that. What were you really up to?"

"Okay, fine, you caught us. He was checking up on me, then we sat together on a sofa and ate a sponge cake." She walked around him and towards her stairs, "It was very nice. He ate more than me, but you know what he's like with cake!" The last bit came as a bit of a shout as she shut the door, knowing that he didn't believe her for one moment.

_~0~0~0~_

Faye knocked on the door of 221B, shifting from foot to foot anxiously as she checked her watch. She knocked again.

"John! We're going to be late!" She called through the door. She knew she could just open the door and stroll straight on in, but she really didn't fancy the prospect of spending time alone with Sherlock. Every time they'd met in the hallway he'd stared at her, trying to work out what she was doing with Mycroft, as if it was a huge conspiracy to keep information from him. The door opened and John appeared, still in his work clothes and an apologetic look on his face.

"Sorry, they needed me a bit longer at work." He told her, "Come in, I'll just be a couple of minutes." She shook her head.

"No, it's fine. I'll wait downstairs." She turned to walk away when he grabbed her arm.

"Sherlock's not here." He told her, "You're safe." She relaxed and reluctantly nodded, following him into the flat. He darted off down a side hallway, "Two minutes!" She shuffled on the spot before heading into the front room. She'd never really paid any attention to it, usually when she'd been in it previously she was so angry she didn't care about the décor but she nodded in approval at the huge fireplace with bookcases lining either side. Very Sherlock, she could see it. Two armchairs sat in front of the fire, she guessed one for each man. She turned and blinked in surprise at the wall behind her. It was covered in pictures and pieces of paper, all of them seemingly randomly placed in a collage. There was a picture of a woman in the middle and Faye grimaced; yet another dead body on a slab. She walked closer, following lines drawn hastily with a pen that linked it to another photo with her finger. It was a man stepping out of what she guessed was a bar. He was in shorts and a white shirt, so she guessed he was on holiday.

"The husband?" She muttered to herself. She looked up, there were a couple more photos of the man, so he must have been important. Sherlock must think he did... whatever killed the woman. She stepped back to get a better look, her legs hitting a coffee table. She groped behind her, blindly sitting down on it and crossing her legs like a child in assembly at school, staring up at the wall with wide eyes. There were pieces of paper dotted around in the midst of the mess stuck with pins to the wall, just words or numbers or small clippings of information that didn't seem to make much sense. He obviously thought they were important, otherwise they wouldn't be there.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, confused as he stepped into the flat to see her staring in awe at his wall. She turned to face him, eyes wide and she blinked, looking him up and down as if she'd only just seen him, "Where's John?"

"Bedroom." She told him, "Your mind..." She turned back to that wall, "I... wow." She laughed to herself, "No wonder you're so rude all the time. How could you possibly have time for simple pleasantries with _this_ going on?" She waved at the wall, "It's magnificent. What must it be like to live in your head?"

"Tiring." He muttered, "Why are you on my coffee table?" She shrugged, pointing to the husband.

"You think he did it, don't you?" She asked in reply, "So why are you still thinking about it? Why have you not done anything about it?" His brows furrowed as he looked her over. Her body language didn't suggest she was fishing for information, she seemed genuinely surprised by the level of detail he had gone into and she wanted to know if she was right. He stepped a little bit closer so he was stood next to the table.

"He was in France at the time. He owns a small car dealership and he's been evading his taxes." Sherlock pointed to a newspaper clipping, with the same man on it, "He was spotted in France at the time the woman was killed."

"So why do you think it was him?" She probed.

"Because he was seen leaving the scene by the neighbours and a cabby." She nodded slowly.

"I can see that's quite confusing."

"It's bloody frustrating." He stated bluntly, "I know he did it. It's so obvious, but _how? _No one is trying to frame him, he couldn't stop tapping his left foot, he may as well have admitted it to the whole of Scotland Yard. He has no brothers or male cousins who may like similar to him, and even though he has been stealing money from his own staff none of them are a good enough match to be mistaken for him." He smacked the wall hard, "Where is it? I'm missing it." All she could do was stare at him, she could practically see the possibilities jumping from his brain as he discarded everything he could think of.

"You're wonderful." She breathed and he turned to face her, surprised and she smiled fondly at him, "I can see why John loves you." He turned back to the wall, hands clasped behind his back.

"Yes, well, it's not very hard to be impressed when you have such an average brain." He retorted before looking back over his shoulder at her, "But thank you." John stepped out into the room, fiddling with his cuffs and Sherlock immediately noticed the new long-sleeved shirt he was wearing.

"Right, I am read..." John froze, looking between Faye, who was staring at Sherlock with wide eyes and an open mouth, and Sherlock who wasn't looking at her at all. He knew that look, "Look, ignore him. He does that to everyone." Faye frowned.

"Does what?" She asked.

"Deduces them. Don't take it personally, it's only cause he noticed the scars." Her hand immediately flew to her cheek, where one of a few faint scars hid under her hair.

"What about them?" She asked, "Sherlock?" John winced. Okay, maybe it hadn't been the offended look he had first thought.

"They were caused by either your father or your brother. Most likely when you were a young teenager, judging by the fact that they are faint but you hide them with your hair because they are still visible, meaning you weren't young enough to grow the fresh skin like an infant would. I would say they were part of an ongoing punishment regime used to keep you in place, which is why you act younger than you are, because you've regressed slightly to deal with a broken childhood." Sherlock listed off, "I suspect that if we took a look at the rest of you, there would be other remnants of other attacks upon you." She swallowed slightly, she hadn't realised he'd taken the time to actually think about them. She sighed, standing up and brushing her jeans down. John watched her sadly, another woman Sherlock had driven away. Not that he was trying to date her or anything.

"You're wrong." She stated deliberately and Sherlock spun, an incredulous look on his face.

"No I'm not." She nodded.

"Yes you are." She replied quietly, "And you can tell just by looking at me that I'm not lying. My father was very supportive of me as a child, and I have no siblings." She smirked slightly, "Try again sometime." She turned to John, "We'd better go, otherwise we really _are_ going to be late." She patted Sherlock's arm as she went past, "Better luck next time, arse." She left first, John smiling in amusement at the almost offended look on Sherlock's face.

"You know," He muttered, walking over to the taller yet younger man, "If you just got to know her, you'd know why she had them." Sherlock looked down at him.

"Do you know?"

"No but..."

"Then how would getting to know her help at all?" John sighed and patted his arm as well.

"Just think about it." John told him, "We're going to the cinema."

"Three drinks!" Sherlock shouted after the doctor.

"Piss off!" John replied.


	8. Aftermath

_I'm really worried about this chapter :( I'm not too sure if I pulled it off like I wanted it to, or if you (the reader) will like it at all. Plus, it also puts it firmly in the series so... I dunno, be kind, yeah? :P_

_~0~0~0~_

John stumbled into Baker Street, Sherlock catching him. He still couldn't seem to find his feet, the realisation he had almost been blown up kept causing his knees to fall away from underneath him. To his credit, Sherlock didn't say a word about how he was reacting. He suspected either Sherlock would pull it on him during one of his insult rants when on a crime scene, or he'd never mention it again. He couldn't begin to describe how much he hoped for the later.

"Sorry." He apologised anyway and Sherlock helped him sit on the stairs up to their home.

"You were wrapped in explosives. There really is no need to keep apologising." John nodded.

"Sorry." He repeated before they both started laughing. Sherlock sat next to him, "So that's Moriarty?" Sherlock nodded, going into his thoughtful mode as he stared at the door in front of them.

"Yes." He replied simply, his mind racing a million miles a second. Moriarty had obviously focused on him, taken one of the only people he genuinely cared about, and then just let them go? Something big was coming.

"Now what?" John asked him. He turned, eyebrows raised, at a loss. He really didn't know.

The door opened, startling the two and Faye stepped in. She paused at the sight of the two sat on the stairs like they'd been sent to the naughty step. She put her hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow at them.

"Mrs Hudson finally told the pair of you off properly?" She teased. John stared at her, dumbstruck about how glad he was to see her. She hadn't crossed his mind when he'd dived at Moriarty, he just thought that if he had to die he was going to take the bastard down with him. But seeing her there in a short jacket with an overly fluffy hood, her blonde hair tied behind her head in a high ponytail with just enough brushing against her face to hide the scars there...

"No, actually..." Sherlock started as John shot up, stumbling over her to pull her into a tight hug. She tensed underneath his touch, eyes wide in alarm as he buried his face in her shoulder.

"What's wrong?" She asked him worriedly before looking over at Sherlock, "What's happened?"

_~0~0~0~_

John really wouldn't let go of her, so as Sherlock gave her a brief yet startling summary of the night's events she helped walk him up to their apartment. He pulled her onto the sofa next to him, keeping his arms wrapped uncomfortably around her. He shook, the memory of being forced into the bomb jacket rotating with Sherlock pointing the handgun at it as he prepared to shoot it. She stroked his hair, calling his name gently but she didn't get a reply.

"I thought he'd been to Afghanistan?" She turned to Sherlock, "Why's he reacting so badly? Not that he doesn't deserve to. You both do, but..." She felt his grip tighten on her, "Why's he so terrified?" Sherlock flopped into his own chair, stretching like he really needed it.

"He was a doctor. I suspect he's never actually had to make the conscious decision to give up his own life. If he hadn't seen you, he probably would have brushed it aside." He closed his eyes, "This 'fancying' business really has screwed him over." She glared at him.

"Oh, shut it you arse." She snapped back before turning back to John, "John, I think we should put you to bed." He shook his head, shooting her a weak but determined smile.

"I'm fine." He insisted, forcing himself onto the here and now. She was right, he had heard her. He'd been to war, this was nothing compared to that. She looked down at his grip on her, still tightly around her waist them back up at him, smiling at him softly.

"How about you just lie down on the sofa for a bit? And I'll stay." He relaxed his grip slightly.

"That's really not necessary..." She shook her head.

"I can't sleep knowing you've both just almost died." She told him, "Not on my own, so just lie down and I'll stay." She stood up and he nodded, grateful, before pulling his legs up and laying his head down. She sat on the floor by his head, giving Sherlock a look to shut him up before he could protest and John fell almost instantly to sleep, the emotional roller-coaster he'd been on exhausting him. She watched Sherlock as she listened to John breath slowly. He stayed on his chair, his head thrown back and he'd closed his eyes again. His hands dangled over the arms and he was breathing steadily. She slowly stood up, making sure not to disturb her friend and she walked over, sitting in the seat across from the detective. She leant forward, hands grasping at the inside of her knees nervously.

"Are you okay?" She asked quietly and he opened an eye to look at her.

"Fine." He replied shortly.

"You had to choose to die as well. You can't be fine after that." She retorted. Sherlock sighed, annoyed and sat up to stare right back at her.

"Am I supposed to be distraught?" He asked her mockingly, "I've always known my lifestyle is going to kill me. I want to take as much of the scum of the earth with me." She shrugged, frustrated at his flippancy and leant back in John's chair, crossing her arms.

"Fine. Be fine." She grumbled. He stared at her as she tried to hide her sniff, very badly he might add. People tried to hide their emotions all the time, but just because he found them a hindrance didn't mean he didn't recognise the traits.

"You said 'both'." He stated and she tore her gaze from the floor to look at him, confused.

"Sorry?" She asked.

"You said 'you've both just almost died'." He repeated, "Not John, both." She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, don't be stupid Sherlock." She snapped, "Of course I'm worried about you too."

"You won't come to flat because I'm here." He pointed out, "You don't like me." Her brows furrowed and she scooted closer, looking at him in shock.

"Do you really think that?" She whispered. She looked over at John, who was sleeping away his ordeal. He'd be fine in the morning. He'd never mention it again, but he'd just move on. She knew that, so she wasn't worried about his recovery. Sherlock, on the other hand, stored everything in that huge brain of his. He'd replay it again and again, working out where he'd gone wrong, what he could have done differently. She tucked her hair behind her ear, "Did you work it out?" She asked.

"What?" He sighed and she traced the scars down the right hand side of her face.

"Did you work out who did this?"

"I briefly thought it might have been your husband, but a quick search showed you'd never been married. So I'm going with boyfriend." He told her, pausing slightly as he looked her up and down, "Or girlfriend." She shook her head, "Then who?"

"You're forgetting the one person who can hurt anyone the most." She told him, "Themselves." He sat up straight.

"You scarred your own face?" He asked her slowly and she nodded.

"When I was almost 16, the boy I fancied told me I was ugly." She told him, "I thought I could change that with a piece of home surgery. I tried to get to my jawbone so I could shave parts of it off."

"That's idiotic." He stated and she laughed slightly before trailing off, running her tongue over her top teeth.

"Yep. That's me. A massive idiot." She whispered to herself, "Fucking moron, me." She ripped her hair tie out and fluffed her hair around her face. Obviously she hadn't really been comfortable talking about it, which just intrigued him more. One does not just simply try to cut their face off and leave it there. She nodded at the wall, "Any luck with your car salesman?" Ah, changing the subject. There was so much more to that story, something she really didn't want him to know. Now _that_ was interesting.

"Nothing yet." He replied, "Me and John are planning on going back to the scene tomorrow." He raised an eyebrow, "Care to join us?" She nodded, a grin stretching across her face.

"Hell yeah."


	9. A Helping Hand

_I don't really know much about crime stuff. That will become increasing apparent in this chapter XD However, I did use an online calculator to work out difference between time of death in a room with a relatively normal temperature and in a place with the average temperature of a fridge, and the link to is on my profile. I hope I don't do too bad :P_

_I also understand that the chapters aren't particularly long, but they're more scenes out a story rather than a huge story, as I find writing scenes much easier than the filler in between :)_

_~0~0~0~_

John really didn't understand why Faye was there. Not that he didn't want her there, actually it was quite the opposite. He'd woken up on the sofa to see her sleeping in his chair, Sherlock nowhere to be seen. She'd woken up as he headed to the kitchen, came up to ruffle his hair and left, telling him he needed a comfier chair. Sherlock appeared out his bedroom and told him to get ready, he wanted to go to the house of Mrs Kingston; the woman who'd been killed by the car salesman. No one mentioned the night before, and he was very glad because he didn't want to have to explain his behaviour. He followed Sherlock down the stairs and had been very surprised to see him deviate to Faye's door, knocking three times. She'd appeared, changed and ready to go. She'd linked arms with John and they'd headed off.

"So, what are we looking for?" Faye asked as Sherlock bent over the spot on the floor she'd been found. He had his pop-out magnifying glass in his hand as he searched the carpet fibres. John was by his side, like always, whilst Faye stood in the doorway, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. She felt very peculiar being in the home of a dead woman, who at one moment had a life and a future and the next had neither.

"Something I've missed." Sherlock murmured in reply, shifting to the side cabinet as he rifled through her belongings. Faye waited for further explanation but shook her head when none came. She turned and left them to it, not really knowing why she'd chosen to come. None of this seemed particularly interesting. She headed to the kitchen, deciding she may as well be nosy while she had the chance. It was a large open kitchen with a huge island in the middle. Very sleek, with white doors and black marble tops. Obviously they had a lot of money. She supposed that's what happened when you didn't pay taxes or staff wages. She slowly paced around the cupboards, opening them and peering inside. There seemed to be a lot of food for someone she'd been told didn't have a family. Just the two, rattling around in this huge house. Didn't seem like a great use of money, in Faye's opinion but what did she know? She'd always thought the same of Mycroft's home, too big for just him. She wandered over to the large American-style fridge, with two doors it was so big. She opened it, preparing herself for the smell of slightly rotten food but it was almost completely bare.

"Bored?" She turned to see John smiling at her from the doorway. She smiled back.

"Just being nosy." She replied, "Did he find what he was looking for?" She nodded in the vague direction Sherlock was in.

"I have no idea." John told her, stepping towards her, "I don't know what he's looking for. No one ever does. He likes to keep details like that to himself until he deems it necessary to let us know."

"Sounds about right." She looked over the fridge again, "Do the police normally empty people's fridges?" John frowned in confusion as he stepped next to her.

"Don't think so. Why?"

"I just expected there to be more in here than there was. The cupboards are all full to the brim." She shrugged, "I'm going to go nosy around the bedroom. Let me know when His Highness is done." She patted John on the arm as she headed out the room. John opened both doors to the refrigerator, looking it over again. He leant in closer, a small spot on the otherwise white walls.

"Sherlock!" He called before stepping back into the man himself, "Jesus. Can you let me know when you're going to appear like that please?" He scolded. Sherlock rolled his eyes at his overreaction before leaning in, wiping the spot. Part of it came off on his finger, "How did you know I was going to call you?"

"I heard Newbarns talking." He replied vaguely, rubbing the substance between his thumb and finger. Definitely blood.

"Do you normally eavesdrop into my conversations?" Faye asked, startling John again as she also appeared from nowhere, this time on the other side of him.

"Seriously!" He snapped, "Will you both stop that?" She smiled apologetically at him.

"Sorry." Sherlock looked at the wire shelves that made up the storage inside, rubbing his finger across the slots they were sat in. The refirgerator was clean, but still had a layer of dust on it from not being used in recent days. Except in the grooves, where the shelves had been moved in and out.

"They've been moved. Recently." He murmured before darting out of the room. Faye shot John a happy look and the pair followed him back into the living room. He was on his knees, tracing a pattern on the carpet to where the woman had been laid out, "She was moved."

"But you said she'd died where she was found?" John told him and Sherlock stood up.

"She did. But then she was moved. He put her in the refrigerator."

"Changing the body temperature can throw the time of death." Faye stated and they both turned to her, John looking surprised, "What? I watched Life on Mars. There was a body on there that had been over a heating vent, so the body didn't cool at the rate expected." She turned to Sherlock, "It made them think the guy had been kill later on in the night than he actually was. I assume it's the opposite if you cool them, right?"

"Wait, so he put her in the refrigerator to make it seem like she was killed earlier than she was?" Sherlock nodded.

"Meaning that the time of death would be placed whilst he was in France, giving him time to get back and kill her while still having an alibi." Sherlock finished, fishing out his phone, "He put her in the fridge." He told the person on the other side, "He killed her later on, I suspect roughly four hours or so. Check for flights within the hour of Kingston having his photograph taken..." Faye turned to John.

"Who's he talking to?" She asked him.

"Lestrade. He's a Detective Inspector with Scotland Yard." John explained as Sherlock unceremoniously hung up on the man.

"So, let me get this straight." Faye started as they headed out of the house, "This Kingston bloke killed his wife, stuffed her in the fridge to drop her temperature, pulled her out and called the cops knowing the time of death would be messed up and he'd have an alibi?" Sherlock nodded.

"It's not that difficult." He retorted.

"And I helped work this out?" He paused and turned to her.

"What makes you think that?"

"I found the empty fridge. You wouldn't have even think to look there." She smirked, feeling quite proud of herself, "Really, it's only me being here that solved the case. I should try my hand at this detective thing more often."

"You didn't help." Sherlock protested, "You were just being annoyingly nosy. I would have found the movement marks of the carpet."

"Perhaps." She brushed aside, "This must pay better than working at a bar. What's my cut?"

"You don't get a _cut._" Sherlock told her firmly, "and you're not coming again. Tell her John." He stormed to the curb, holding his hand out as he called down a passing taxi. She turned to John.

"Oh, winding him up is such fun." She told John, who laughed with her, "How do you put up with him?"

"With much difficulty." He replied, stepping into the cab next to Sherlock and scooting over to give her room, "And a little help of the woman in the flat below giving me somewhere to hide." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Oh lord." He groaned, "This is getting embarrassing."

"Sherlock!" John scolded.

"You don't want to be in a relationship with someone so mentally unstable they tried to carve off their own face. I'm just saving you the trouble." Faye's mouth dropped and John looked between the two, confused.

"Hold on, have I missed something?" Faye glared at Sherlock before turning to the cabbie.

"Stop the car." She told him firmly.

"Oh, just ignore him Faye." John told her.

"I said, stop the car!" The cabbie quickly pulled against the curb and she chucked the door open, turning to Sherlock just before she tried to get out.

"I told you that because I thought it'd stop you wondering." She snarled, "You really are an arse." She climbed out, banging the side of the taxi twice to tell the man to drive on. Sherlock turned to John.

"Oh, was that supposed to be a secret?" John shrugged.

"I suspect so, although I have no idea what either of you are talking about." Sherlock nodded once, looking out the side window as the traffic flowed by.

"Duly noted."

_~0~0~0~_

As Faye walked down the street, torn between raging and crying, a black car pulled up along side her. She quickly detoured into it's back seat, flopping down next to a woman who was glued to her phone screen.

"Where to?" She asked vaguely, obviously under the instructions to go wherever the woman commanded.

"Mycroft."


	10. The Palace

_I decided to try and link the next few chapters with the series, so this chapter follows on with the episode quite closely. However, this is just to anchor it in and the following chapters should be scenes and times we don't see in the show. Hope that's okay :)_

_~0~0~0~_

"Go to the stream." Sherlock told the man on his computer screen, tightening the sheet he was wearing instead of his clothes. It was simple really, he just couldn't understand why people didn't see the world like he did. A hiker, an accomplished sportsman who'd been on holiday, hit on the back of the head with a blunt instrument? It was practically waving in their faces.

"What's in the stream?" The Detective Inspected asked from the field in the countryside... somewhere unimportant.

"Go and see." Sherlock commanded him as the door behind him swung open.

"Sherlock! You weren't answering your doorbell!" She cried, alarmed as two men in suits followed her in. One turned to his college and pointed to the back of the flat.

"His room's through the back. Get him some clothes."

"Who the hell are you?" Sherlock demanded as the other man headed towards his bedroom.

"Sorry, Mr. Holmes. You're coming with us." The man in charge stepped towards him, closing the lid and the conversation with John. The other man returned with a pile of clothes and a pair of shoes, putting them down on the table in front of Sherlock pointedly. Sherlock raised an eyebrow before looking away, disinterested in the entire affair.

"Please, Mr. Holmes. Where you're going, you'll want to be dressed." The man in charge said with a knowing smirk. Sherlock gazed at him briefly, the fact that he wasn't armed and covered in the hair of three separate dogs telling him everything he needed to know.

"Oh, I know _exactly_ where I'm going." Sherlock replied with the same smirk and he stood up, a glance out of the window at the car below them confirming exactly _who_ he was going to meet there. Well, this might be interesting after all. Perhaps it could be used to gather some more information he'd been trying to get for a while now, "And I'm not going without my girlfriend." He stalked past them and down the stairs to 221C, raising his hand to knock before deciding he needed to be quicker than that. He chucked the door open and Faye spun in alarm, dressed in only two blue towels, one wrapped around her and another balanced on her head. She opened her mouth to yell at him when the two men came in behind him. She took in Sherlock's own state of undress before heading to the door and the three men.

"Where are we off to?" She asked as they all left the building, heading the the car.

"Oh, you'll never believe me sweetheart." Sherlock replied and she grinned.

_~0~0~0~_

John was lead into a sitting room on the first floor of Buckingham Palace, still completely in the dark about what was going on. He had learnt to not question anything when it came to Sherlock, though, so he felt he'd taken it in good grace. Sherlock was sat on one of two very regal sofas in just the large white sheet he'd been wearing during the video call but he was completely taken aback by the sight of Faye in just a towel, using another in her hand to dry her hair. He looked between the two then at Sherlock for answers, but the man just shrugged at him. He moved over and sat on the other end of the sofa, Faye sandwiched between them.

"Are you wearing any pants?" John asked the pair.

"No." Sherlock replied instantly whilst Faye shook her head, crossing one leg over the other.

"Okay." He turned to Faye and she smiled excitedly at them before the three burst into fits of laughter. "At Buckingham Palace, fine." He conceded before leaning in towards the pair, "Oh, I'm seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray."

"That would be brilliant." Faye agreed, "A genuine royal ashtray. You could sell it for thousands." John looked over at Sherlock, who was pointedly looking at a pile of his clothes on the table in front of them.

"What are we doing here, Sherlock? Seriously, what?" He asked and Sherlock shrugged, still smiling.

"I don't know." He admitted.

"I don't understand why I had to come along for the ride." Faye pointed out, fluffing her hair with her hand to try and get it under control. She didn't have her normal hair products, and the last thing she wanted was frizzy hair. Sherlock glanced over at her at the motion and saw the very tips of brown roots beginning to show. So she dyed her hair...

"Here to see the Queen?" John suggested as Mycroft strolled in from the next room.

"Oh, apparently yes." Sherlock confirmed and the three began to laugh again, Faye giggling wildly even though Mycroft was eyeing them with a distinct look of exasperation.

"Just once, can you three behave like grown-ups?" He asked them.

"We solve crimes, I blog about it, he forgets his pants and she agrees with my thieving impulses so I wouldn't hold out too much hope." John pointed out. Sherlock glanced up at his brother, who didn't look the least bit surprised at the sight of the woman in between the two. Then again, Mycroft was almost as good at masking his reactions as he was. All he saw was his eyes flicker down to Faye, then move back to himself. Not the reaction he had been hoping for, he had hoped seeing her would have had a more surprised reaction.

"I was startled to hear my brother was bringing his 'girlfriend' along." Mycroft offered offhandedly and Faye shifted, smirking at Sherlock teasingly.

"Girlfriend?" She asked, "That's news to me. Have we been going out long considering I'm mentally unstable enough to carve my own face off?" Sherlock ignored her, staring up at his brother unamused. Maybe he had been expecting her to come along? No, there was no way he would have known if she'd been in his flat or not. He'd never mentioned Faye to him before, so he wanted to keep whatever relationship they had a secret. He wasn't getting any answers, he didn't like that.

"I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft." Sherlock told him as an answer.

"What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?" Mycroft retorted and Sherlock nodded.

"Transparent." John turned to look at him, surprised that he already knew what had happened. Although, he still wasn't sure why Sherlock constantly surprised him.

"Time to move on, then." Mycroft leant down, picked up the shoes and clothes and offered them to Sherlock, who eyed them in the same disinterest as before then pointedly looking away. Mycroft sighed in annoyance.

"We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on." He commanded angrily. Sherlock shrugged.

"What for?" He asked.

"Your client." Sherlock stood up, the sheet covering him almost completely.

"And my client is?"

"Illustrious," They all turned to see a man stroll into the room leisurely, as if he was used to the grandeur of the palace, "in the extreme." John stood up but Faye stayed with her hands clasped on her lap, "And remaining – I have to inform you – entirely anonymous." He glanced over at Mycroft and smiled, "Mycroft!"

"Harry." The older Holmes replied, walking over with the same smile plastered on his face and the pair shook hands, "May I just apologise for the state of my little brother?"

"Full-time occupation, I imagine." Faye sucked her bottom lip to mask her amusement as Sherlock scowled, "And this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers." Harry declared and John nodded, holding his hand out.

"Hello, yes." He confirmed as the man shook it firmly.

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog." Harry told him and John blinked in surprise.

"Your employer?" Harry nodded.

"Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminium crutch." John beamed, shooting Sherlock a smug look.

"Thank you!" Harry looked down at Faye, his sweeping gaze of her wiping away all of her amusement.

"And who is this charming lady?" He asked, obviously only expecting the two men. She pursed her lips together as she stood up, stepping so close to Sherlock she banged gently into him.

"Sherlock's girlfriend." She introduced herself, completely offended by the man in front of her. Sherlock, sensing her distress and coupled with his immediate dislike of Harry, nodded in agreement.

"I'd appreciate if you would stop leering at her." He told them. Mycroft, eyebrows raised at his little brother coming to her aid, was also very grateful that being called out on his ulcerous look made him glance away from Faye's legs. So he didn't want anyone looking at her? Interesting. Harry cleared his throat and walked closer to Sherlock.

"And Mr. Holmes the younger. You look taller in your photographs." Harry told him. Sherlock stared directly into his eyes.

"I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend." He retorted before walking away and up to Mycroft.

"Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at _one_ end of my cases. Both ends is too much work." He told his brother before throwing a fleeting glance at Harry again, "Good morning." He turned and stalked towards the doorway when Mycroft stood on the edge of he sheet. He didn't notice until the sheet fell around his hips, his quick reaction the only thing stopping him being completely exposed. John looked at Faye, startled by the squeak that broke from her lips and she stared at Sherlock with her hand over her mouth.

"This is a matter of national importance. Grow up." Mycroft snapped, losing patience with him as he refused to turn around.

"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock demanded through gritted teeth.

"Or what?" Mycroft pressed.

"Or I'll just walk away." Sherlock retorted.

"I'll let you." Faye clasped her hands together, looking at the ceiling as if praying.

"Please." She mock-whispered and John shot her a look.

"Not helping." He told her before walking over to the brothers, "Boys, please. Not here."

"Who. Is. My. _Client_?" Sherlock demanded.

"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now _for God's sake,_" Mycroft inhaled, remembering whose presence he was in before glaring at his little brother, "put your clothes on!" Sherlock didn't move, taking a deep breath before he stormed over and picked up the pile that had been brought for him.

"Hold on." Faye cried as he headed back towards the doorway, "Why does he get clothes and I don't? That's incredibly sexist."

"Sexy." Sherlock corrected over his shoulder, disappearing from view. Faye beamed, blushing slightly as John stared after him, still none the wiser over what was going on.

_~0~0~0~_

Faye watched Sherlock and John walked out of the room, pulling the white sheet around her as thye headed off to meet this 'Irene Adler'. Sherlock had come back to the uncomfortably silent room and draped the white sheet over her shoulders before proceeding with the reason they were there. No mention was made of it, and he left without taking it from her but she had used it to cover herself from the gaze of the Harry bloke she had been sat in front of.

"Are you not following your boyfriend?" He had asked and she shook her head.

"I'm not going anywhere without some clothes." She retorted, "Can't have perverts looking me over like a piece of meat, what would Sherlock say?" He'd scowled, he and Mycroft had exchanged pleasantries and he had left the pair alone. Mycroft looked down at her.

"I shall have Anthea fetch you some clothes." He told her.

"She told John that wasn't her name." Faye told him, looking at the envelope on the table. She reached forward, pulling the images of Irene Adler's website out, flicking through them.

"Anthea will do that." Mycroft replied as he watched her stare at the woman.

"She has blue eyes." She remarked as she stared down at the picture, "She's very beautiful. No wonder men hire her. I would too." Mycroft watched her slide them back into the envelope.

"You do realise Sherlock isn't actually your boyfriend?" He asked her and she stood up, pulling the sheet around her as she glared furiously at him.

"Of course I bloody know." She hissed, "But you are supposed to be my friend, and you've sent him to her. Why did it have to be Sherlock?"

"It's in the country's best interest that those photos are obtained." He told her calmly.

"She will eat him alive! He's your brother, Mycroft." She exclaimed in disbelief, "And you sent him to her."

"You seem to have very little faith in him." She sighed.

"He is naïve, she obviously is not considering the position 'the country' appears to be in. He will not get them photos."

"My brother will not fall for the 'womanly wiles' of Miss Adler." Mycroft told her firmly, "He does not see things others do. It's not how he views the world."

"Yes it is." She told him, "Otherwise I wouldn't be in the bloody situation I am now, with dyed blonde hair and fucking fake contact lenses. She'll see that straight away! It's what women like her do!"

"Oh." Mycroft breathed, "You're upset it might be her and not you." Faye's hands clenched at her side and she turned, letting the sheet fall and leaving her in just the towel again.

"I'm going home." She told him as she stalked out of the room._  
_


	11. The Woman

_Hope you like it :) Thank you for all your kind words xxxx_

_~0~0~0~_

Where were they? She'd been driven straight back to her flat and had proceeded to pace in her flat, waiting for them to return. She'd had a cup of tea with Mrs Hudson, but had to politely but hastily retreat back to her pacing and worrying. Eventually she moved to sitting on the stairs up to 221B and watching the front door intently. Somehow, she was still surprised when it opened and she jumped up when John heaved Sherlock in, supporting him along with another man. Sherlock was muttering incoherently, blinking as he fought to keep awake.

"Jesus!" She exclaimed, rushing over, "What's happened to him? Is he alright?"

"Adler drugged him." John explained, "We need to get him to bed." Faye nodded, reaching into his jacket pocket and grabbing his keys before dashing upstairs to unlock the door for the pair to haul Sherlock to his bedroom. She pulled his covers back and tried to help the two men get him on.

"Brown hair... blonde..." Sherlock muttered to himself, his eyes fluttering as he stared blankly up at them.

"What did she give him?" She asked John as the man took out his phone. John shrugged but she was drawn to the other man, who grinned as he held the phone over Sherlock, "Sorry, who are you?" She snapped.

"Oh, this is DI Lestrade." John introduced, realising neither of them had actually met before. Faye frowned and held her hand out to him.

"Give me your phone." She demanded. He raised his eyebrow at her.

"I'm sorry?" She smiled warmly.

"Oh, sorry. I need to phone his brother, let him know that Sherlock's been hurt but he's okay. Do you mind?" Lestrade looked at John, who nodded encouragingly. He handed the Faye the phone and she walked away from them to Sherlock's window, opening it and chucking the phone out as far as she could.

"That's my phone!" Lestrade exclaimed, running over to the window to vainly try and see it in the distance.

"Yes." Faye snapped, "And he's my friend. I've heard about you and your team, I'm not having you flaunt that video you were taking around your station, DI Lestrade. Try it again and I'll chuck you out with it."

"You can't do that!" He scolded her, "I'm the bloody police." She glared at him.

"And that's very professional, isn't it?" She retorted before looking over the man's shoulder at John, "What do we do about Sherlock?"

"We just have to monitor him." John replied, trying to ignore the murderous look Lestrade was shooting Faye. He walked over and grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him, "I'll stay with him."

"I'll help." She told him, "I'm not leaving him, John."

"I am." Lestrade declared loudly, "And if I don't find my phone you will be paying for a new one."

"Fine." She snapped at the man as he walked out, "You'll never bloody find it anyway!" The front door slammed shut, stirring Sherlock from his temporary slumber.

"Legs!" He exclaimed groggily before falling back to sleep. She looked at John, confused.

"Legs?" She asked him. He looked back down at Sherlock, as if he didn't want to look at her.

"Irene Adler was naked for most of the time we were there." He told her, "Sherlock noticed." She blinked, her mood deflating further as she watched the man on the bed fight his drug-addled mind.

"I see..." An unfamiliar ringtone began to fill the room and she slipped a phone from her sleeve.

"Hello?" She answered, "No, sorry, I've just found this phone on..." she paused, "Err, Siddons Street. Yeah, I can wait. Okay." She hung up.

"Is that Lestrade's phone?" John asked her as she turned it off with a button on the top.

"Yep. Did he get the pictures?" John frowned, wondering what it had to do with Lestrade's phone until he saw her gazing down at Sherlock.

"Oh! No, no I don't think he did." He replied.

"So he was drugged just to see Adler naked?" She whispered before shaking her head, "I'm gonna go get a book. I'll sit with him for a bit." She moved to walk out before turning and smiling at John, pulling him in for a surprising hug, "I'm glad you're okay, John." She whispered. He slowly wrapped his arms around her, giving her the comfort she obviously needed. They stood in silence as Sherlock's steady breathing filled the room before he let her go. She squeezed his arm before leaving the room, Sherlock groaning in his sleep.

"Stop..." He moaned, "Girlfriend... Legs..." John frowned.

"Legs? You're pretty obsessed with..." He paused slightly, the scene from earlier coming back to him, "But you're not thinking about Adler, are you?"

_~0~0~0~_

Irene Adler barely left his mind, tormenting him in his unconscious state as she explained how she'd worked out what had happened to the hiker. But perhaps it wasn't actually her, perhaps it was just his mind's way of trying to bring him back to normal because her voice would fade away, the face of Irene smirking but Faye's tones flowing from her mouth. One minute Irene would be deducing away, the next Faye would be telling him he was safe and to wake up when he was ready. The scene would flash out existence, replaced with Faye with brown hair, before Irene would come back once again. He didn't know why that bothered him but his mind had wandered back to the fact her hair was brown since he'd seen her roots. Irene Adler also had dark brown hair, and there she was again, barely dressed and licking her seductively red lips. His eyes fluttered opened and he was on his back, in his bedroom. When had that happened?

"John?" He called, sitting up, "John?" He tried to get out of bed but promptly fell on the floor by the foot of his bed.

"You okay?" John appeared, helping him back onto the bed.

"How did I get here?" He asked groggily.

"Well, I don't suppose you remember much. You weren't making a lot of sense." John reasoned, "Lestrade filmed you on his phone, but Faye kept his phone so she could delete it."

"Faye?" Sherlock blinked, a fleeting image from his dream flittering across his mind, "Where is she?" John motioned to the floor by the window, where Faye was sleeping, her head propped on a cushion and covered in his coat.

"She normally sleeps during the day, but she didn't want to leave you. She was very worried." His eyes scanned over her, trying to work out what was wrong with the image of her sleeping there.

"The woman. That woman." Sherlock slurred, pulling himself to his feet.

"What woman?" John asked as Sherlock pushed himself onto his feet and he began to stumble around his room, looking for Irene.

"_The_ woman. The _woman_ woman!" He explained unhelpfully.

"What, Irene Adler? She got away. No-one saw her." He shook his head. That wasn't right. He could have sworn he'd heard her telling him about his coat. He stumbled over to the window, opening it to look to see if she was hiding out there, "She wasn't here, Sherlock." John tried to tell him as he fell back to the floor, barely missing Faye who moaned at the loud thudding. He stared at her, blinking to get her into focus. There was that brown hair again. For a moment the blonde melted away, she looked... how odd... He turned onto his side and dragged himself across the floor to look under the bed. Maybe that woman was under it, or maybe not. John grabbed him roughtly, pulling him back up and chucking him face-down on the bed, "Back to bed." He commanded, pulling the covers over his friend, "You'll be fine in the morning. Just sleep."

"Of course I'll be fine. I _am_ fine. I'm absolutely fine." Sherlock protested, his eyes already fluttering closed. Faye on the floor, her face lightly stained with the tears John hadn't seen, with brown hair flashed in his mind.

"Yes, you're great. Now I'll be next door if you need me." John told him. He'd made her cry before. He hadn't meant to though. Had The Woman made her cry this time? The coat, The Woman had his coat, and now Faye had it. What did it mean?

"Why would I need you?" He mumbled and John rolled his eyes.

"No reason at all." He muttered, casting Faye another glance before leaving his friends to sleep.


	12. A Change in Colour

_Have another one :) Thanks for the reviews, and thanks for any you may feel like leaving here ;)_

_~0~0~0~_

John knocked on the door, rocking on his heels as he waited for Faye to open the door. He quickly straightened his jacket as he heard her footsteps and she grinned at him as she opened her door. He blinked, surprised as she looked impressed.

"Dr Watson, don't you scrub up well?" She teased. He nodded.

"Well... you... you looked great." He told her and she spun on the spot to show off her black dress. It had a halter-neck, tightening at the waist with a loose-fitting knee-length skirt.

"Oh, this old thing?" She batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly, "Let me just grab my jacket." She dashed in, grabbed a black jacket then came back out, locking the door behind her, "Is Kate meeting us there?" He shook his head.

"No." He admitted, becoming decidedly uncomfortable, "We decided it wasn't working out." Faye shook her head.

"What did he do now?" She asked.

"Nothing." John replied quickly, "We just..." He trailed off at her raised eyebrow, "Remember when he put that arm in your fridge?" She nodded, giggling slightly as she thought back on the memory.

"Oh yeah." She clucked her tongue against the top of her mouth, "What an arse."

"Now, imagine being on a second date and him dropping another arm on your lap." She snorted slightly before shooting him an apologetic look. He held the door to the back seat of the taxi open for her and she climbed in first.

"I'm sorry, John." He shrugged, giving the driver the address of the restaurant. Sherlock didn't help meeting women, in fact he seemed to be going out of his way to sabotage his dates lately, but it wasn't the main reason women kept leaving him before they'd even started.

"I like your hair, by the way." He told her and her hand shot up to selfconsciously fluff it.

"I wanted a bit of a change." She told him shakily and he shot her a reassuring smile.

"You suit dark brown." He promised her and she beamed at him, "You look very stylish." She nudged him.

"You don't have to flatter me." She told him, "You're already getting laid tonight." His breath caught in his throat as he became very flustered for a moment until he saw her cheeky grin and the pair started laughing.

_~0~0~0~_

John was angry. He seemed to be angry a lot recently, perhaps he should suggest some time off from that '_job_' if it was going to interfere with his everyday life. He rolled his eyes and turned back to the television as John fumed in the doorway wearing that ridiculous suit he thought wasn't too smart but not too casual either.

"We were _eating _Sherlock!" He exclaimed angrily.

"You don't like Italian." He pointed out lazily, "Now, explain to me again why people _actually_ find this ridiculous trollop believable! No man would go back to his wife when she'd slept with his cousin!" John made a strangling motion towards the man, actually wondering if anyone would charge him if he killed him there and then.

"It's Eastenders! No one thinks it's believable, they just like the characters."

"But this Kat woman..."

"In case you didn't realise, I don't care!" John finally snapped, "I'm going to the bathroom, and then I am leaving. Watch it, don't watch it. I. Don't. Care." He turned and disappeared into the hallway before reappearing, "And I do like Italian!" He disappeared and Sherlock smirked to himself as he turned back to the drivel on the television. He was so easy to play, this one wouldn't last half as long as the woman with the nose. She hadn't even come upstairs with him...

"John?" He glanced over at the door to see Faye appear and he almost had to double take at her new look. She saw Sherlock and strode over, "Is everything okay, Sherlock?" She asked him worried and he nodded, his eyes darting over the new colour and her dress. She'd never dressed that nicely when going out with John before, and the hair... It was familiar.

"You changed your hair." He pointed out and she smiled, surprised and happy at the same time.

"Yes, I did." She replied faintly, "Why did you call John back?" She tried again but he just leant forward, his eyes searching her closely.

"That's not it." He murmured before his gaze locked with hers, "Your eyes have changed colour." She blinked.

"My eyes are blue." She replied firmly.

"Not that blue." Sherlock corrected, "Why are you wearing coloured contacts?"

"Jesus!" John exclaimed and the pair turned to stare at him, "For a second I thought you were Adler." He told Faye with a laugh before looking at Sherlock pointedly, "Now that would have been a good reason to interrupt our dinner, not bloody Eastenders."

"Why have you changed your eye colour?" Sherlock pressed, completely ignoring John as he stared Faye down. John frowned, suddenly sensing the tension between the two. Faye was staring at Sherlock, looking torn between smacking him and begging him for something. Her tongue darted out, wetting the lipstick there before she took a deep breath through her nose.

"Because if you can't carve your jawline, you can dye your hair and change your eye colour." She told him lowly. He scoffed at her.

"All because of a teenage boy?" He mocked and she nodded.

"Once it was." She agreed, "Now I feel more comfortable like this. It's my choice and please, _please _don't tell Mycroft." Sherlock had the decently to look as surprised at that statement as John felt.

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock asked, "Why would Mycroft care?"

"If you tell him he will jump to a conclusion that I do not want him to jump to." She replied firmly.

"The wrong one?" John guessed and she turned to look at him, looking genuinely worried and slightly scared.

"No, the right one." She replied before turning to Sherlock, "Please don't tell him Sherlock."

"I don't see why I should keep it a secret." He stated, leaning back into his chair, his fingers steepled, "If you have nothing to hide, that is." She swallowed, her eyes darting around until her eyes landed on his phone, resting on the arm of the chair.

"If you don't tell Mycroft I will tell you something I know will have been bothering you for weeks." She offered. He shrugged, uninterested, "It's about the woman moaning whenever you get a text." She added and she tensed at how suddenly interested he seemed. He stared at her and she sighed, "She was in your room the night you were drugged." She offered.

"What?" John exclaimed, "She was in the flat? How come you never said anything?"

"I'm not exactly comfortable with the woman who drugged my friend having anything to do anything with him." She retorted, keeping her gaze locked on Sherlock.

"What did she want?" He finally asked her.

"She handed me your jacket and told me to tell you goodnight, tuck you in and to place a kiss on your forehead." She explained, "Then she dove back out the window. She was wearing very little but from what I can tell she rarely does." John was surprised at the venom in her voice, "Please Sherlock, _don't tell Mycroft._" Sherlock turned from her, back to the television looking uninterested once more.

"I don't tell my brother anything I can help it." He replied and she relaxed, reaching up into her hair and dragging her fingers through it, pulling out the bobby pins that were holding her hair up.

"Thank you." She whispered before heading towards the door. She paused, looking sadly at the floor, "My hair and eyes might be fake, but nothing else is." She told him.

"Then how do you know my brother?" Sherlock asked.

"We all have secrets, Sherlock." She explained, "If I could tell you, I would. But I need to keep this to myself." Sherlock didn't reply and she left John staring after her, confused and feeling strangely wounded she didn't once beg him.

_~0~0~0~_

Faye walked out of her bathroom, her face slightly red from wiping off her makeup. Her high heels were discarded by the front door, her jacket on the sofa but she was still dressed in the black dress she'd loved when she'd put it on.

"Bored!" Sherlock cried from his lounging position on the sofa, leaning his head on her jacket. She stared at him, unable to figure out what to do, "I need a case!" A very small smile graced her lips. She had half-expected John to follow her, but she suspected he'd had enough information thrown at him for one night. But Sherlock? He was offering her a way out. By going back to how they'd been before. She picked up the remote for her television and flicked to BBC News 24 before chucking the remote at him.

"Watch that. You'll get a case in 10 minutes."

"You think so?" He scoffed and she nodded, sitting on the floor next to his head.

"100 quid says you do." He let his hand fall down in front of her and they shook on it.

"You're on." He drawled.


	13. A Night Out

_Let me know if you like it ^_^ Reviews make for a happy author :P_

_~0~0~0~_

"John!" Faye shouted, stepping into their flat without knocking, something she'd slowly become used to, "Come look." He glanced up to see her in the doorway, posing dramatically, "It's the dress Sherlock lovingly bought me." She motioned down at the black tunic-dress with a big white collar, "Also, the shoes Sherlock bought me, and the jeans Sherlock bought me."

"Sherlock bought you them?" John asked, confused, as he looked over from the sofa to the man slouched angrily in his chair.

"I did not buy you anything." He snapped.

"Okay, so he gave me 100 quid to buy myself something. Same thing."

"It was a relatively likely the news would have a crime reported on it." He retorted and she stepped into the room and walked towards him, a smirk on her face.

"Then why did you agree to the bet?" She teased, freezing as she finally spotted Mycroft leaning nonchalantly against the mantelpiece. Sherlock didn't have an answer, instead turning to Mycroft.

"It is your turn, Mycroft." He snapped, turning back to their previous conversation, "You are her favourite, after all."

"But it's... _Cats._" He replied distastefully, "You are supposed to take her to the theatre next."

"No." Sherlock replied firmly, "Have fun." Mycroft sighed, he had known he really didn't have much of a case and Sherlock was never going to give in to him. He nodded and picked up his umbrella, strolling casually towards the door.

"Dr Watson." He acknowledge, nodding his head before looking at Faye, "Miss Adler." He left and she squeezed her eyes shut, groaning loudly as her head fell forward.

"Oh no." She sobbed before sighing and turning around, "I really wanted to tease Sherlock!" She exclaimed before stomping out and following Mycroft like a child who knew they were in trouble. John looked over at Sherlock, who for once looked as baffled as he felt. They both jumped up and walked over to the window to see Mycroft open the back door of his car, letting Faye climb in first before he looked up at the window. He cocked his eyebrow at them before climbing in after her and the car sped off.

"Curiouser and curiouser." Sherlock muttered under his breath, watching the car until it turned into a speck in the distance. John watched for a moment, then turned to see Sherlock staring intently after her.

"Okay, Alice." John replied, "Although it is strange why she followed Mycroft so quickly. Why does she care what he thinks?"

"I have no idea." Sherlock said slowly before letting the blinds fall back into place, "I don't know anyone who cares what Mycroft thinks. Or does."

_~0~0~0~_

She flopped down onto the sofa, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting angrily. Mycroft hadn't even said anything, but she could see what was swirling around that head of his and she didn't need him throwing that her.

"I just wanted to change my hair colour!" She exclaimed as Mycroft leant against his desk, watching her with no expression on his face, "What's wrong with wanting to look nicer?"

"You have been very happy with your blonde hair for years, what brought on such a drastic change?" He pressed and she looked away.

"I just liked the colour. I'm naturally brown-haired anyway." She reasoned.

"That is not your natural colour." He pointed out, "That is the colour of a certain dominatrix. As are the new contacts." She reached up to play with the ends of her hair.

"I just like the colour, Mycroft." She murmured sadly, "It makes me feel nice." She looked down at the floor, "I dunno. Maybe I thought..." He sighed as she trailed off, moving to sit next to her and put an arm around her shoulder, pulling him against him slightly roughly.

"You thought Sherlock would like it." He finished for her.

"He noticed her." She whispered, "John said he really noticed her. He was mumbling about her when he was drugged, and I swear sometimes he's looking for her. She's sexy, and so self-assured. I long to be like that, Mycroft. Except I'm stuck in this stupid half-way point, where I love who I am but I can't even look myself in the mirror." She began crying softly, and although his grip never changed she knew how much of a step out of his comfort zone it always was to comfort her, but he did it. Every time, "I don't know why you put up with me."

"If it wasn't for you, my brother would have been expelled from school." He replied bluntly, "Multiple times. You saved him, and it stopped me having to put the effort in to save him from himself." She giggled, snorting slightly through her tears, "And when you left he spiralled out of control, eventually becoming a drug-dependant drain on society and his family."

"That had nothing to do with me." She told him, "He couldn't find his way, he needed to be stimulated. He still does. He took my television apart a couple of weeks ago. He turned out just fine without me." There was a pause that filled the room thickly.

"I don't think I would have." He admitted and she looked up at him, surprised, "I think my life is better because of you." A small smile spread across her face, "I will never repeat that." She giggled and snuggled into his loose embrace.

"I love you too, you pompous arse."

_~0~0~0~_

Faye skipped into 221B, a grin on her face as John finished getting ready for another shift at the clinic. He wasn't sure if he could keep both the job and continue with Sherlock, one of them was going to have to give and he was pretty sure it was going to have to be the clinic. She hopped over to him, chucking her arms around him and pulling him into a large hug. He automatically smiled, hugging her back.

"Hey!" He exclaimed in happy surprise, "Are you okay?" She looked up at him, still smiling, and placed a kiss on his cheek.

"Wonderful." She replied sincerely, "I've got to go to work soon, I was hoping you could come again but it looks like you have to work too." He shook his head, his brow furrowing as he forced a look of confusion onto his face.

"Didn't I tell you? I quit." He lied and she pulled back, clapping her hands happily. He hadn't liked that job anyway, she was glad he'd finally given it up.

"Brilliant! Give me a couple minutes, then we'll go." She skipped back to the door, pausing to look around the room, "Where's Sherlock?"

"Out." He replied, although he was uncertain where the consulting detective was.

"Oh." She shrugged, "If he comes back, tell him he should come too." She skipped out and John turned around to head through the kitchen where Sherlock was stood, looking at him calculatingly.

"You haven't quit." He stated as John tried to calm his heartbeat down.

"Jesus, Sherlock." He scolded, "Do you always have to stalk about like that?"

"You told her that so you could go to the bar with her." Sherlock continued.

"I _am_ going to quit." John told him, pushing past him, "She told me to tell you to come."

"Spend my night in a dimly lit, sweaty room with drunken idiots grinding on each other? I think not." He headed to the window, picked up his violin and began to play while John rolled his eyes and went to change his clothes again.

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock could hear them trying to come up the stairs quietly and sighed, closing his eyes and putting his book down. They were both drunk, John hadn't stopped at three drinks like he continuously suggested. He hadn't realised how hard it would be to get them to sleep together, but he would keep trying. If John insisted on trying to pair himself up, the woman downstairs would be the best choice for it. At least she wouldn't move then, the fact that she lived in the basement didn't bother him as much as it used to.

"Shh..." She shushed John, giggling as John opened the door to their flat, missing the keyhole a few times before he made it, "Sherlock might... he might be asleep."

"Nah." John dismissed loudly, "Sherlock doesn't sleep. Or eat. He's strange." She giggled again.

"He eats for me." She told him as they helped themselves into the front room, "He hates food, but when... Oh, look, he _is_ asleep. We should be quite, quite... _quiet_ John." A laugh burst from his throat as they both looked over at Sherlock, who seemed to have fallen asleep on his chair.

"You're drunk." He told her, "You shouldn't be on your own." She nodded, a serious look on her face.

"You are right." she told him, "I'm going to bed." She sauntered towards the bedrooms, "I'd like to sleep in Sherlock's room again, but Irene Adler will be there." John shook his head as he stumbled after her.

"Irene isn't here." He told her, "I would know. Sherlock would tell me."

"She's always here." She slurred out, "In his big ol' head. I wish I was in that head somewhere." She pulled John closer, leaning on him, "Do you... do you think he notices me?" John nodded, "I mean, like _really_ notices me? Like he did with that sexy lady?"

"I do." John replied, trying to whisper, "Come on." He took her hand like he was taking care of her and lead her to his bedroom. Sherlock opened his eyes, watching the door shut and he suddenly wished he hadn't told John about the three drinks at all.


	14. Meeting Molly

_Thank you for being so supportive :) It means the world to me, I can't even begin to tell you because this genre of fanfiction is just so new to me, so thank you :)_

_~0~0~0~_

Faye first noticed the blinding light, the pounding headache came a few seconds later. She moaned in pain, rolling over to grab her phone. That wasn't her bedside table. She forced her eyes open and looked around. This was John's room. She paled, her stomach churning in panic and she pulled the covers up slightly, sighing loudly in relief when she found herself still dressed in the clothes from the night before. She then did the same to John, just to make sure he was dressed. He was. They hadn't slept together. She slowly climbed out of the bed, careful not to wake the doctor and grabbed her shoes, heading to the door and out into the kitchen where Sherlock was at the table, mixing... something in his little meth-lab set-up. He took one look at her and smirked.

"Did you and John have fun last night?" He asked and she nodded.

"Yes, actually." She replied, wincing at being caught coming from his room, "Thanks."

"There's aspirin on the counter top." He muttered, his mouth pursed as he poured... something into a test tube. Why did he have to be so clever so early on?

"Thanks." She murmured in reply, heading over to find two white tables and a glass of water. She picked the tablets up, swallowing them instantly before taking a swig of the water, "We didn't have sex." She told him, staring at the cupboard.

"I know." He replied simply and she rolled her eyes.

"Of course you do." She looked over at him, smiling slightly as she watched him be clever, "I just wanted you to know."

"I do." He told her, "I had to take you back several times." Her eyes widened as she saw herself stumbling into Sherlock's room, trying to sleep in the spot by the window she had slept in when he'd been drugged.

"Oh god..." She groaned. He smirked, enjoying her discomfort at the memory.

"You kept telling me to be nice to my brother, because he was 'adorable'." He made the quotation marks in the air before shrugging, "I don't see it myself."

"What else did I tell you?" She asked.

"That you have brown eyes. You were very insistent on that." He told her, "And that you wanted to be 'sexy like the sexy lady'." She caught her head in her hands, torn between laughing and crying.

"And who is the sexy lady?" She dared to ask.

"How am I supposed to know?" He replied and she settled on laughing.

"Oh, come here you arse." She hugged him from behind. He tensed, just like his brother, "What would I do without you in my life?"

"Be entirely more mundane." He answered and she nodded as John stepped out of his room, his hair a mess as he looked around, baffled.

"What happened?" He asked them and she let go of Sherlock to sit down on one of the kitchen chairs.

"We slept together." She stated simply, "We made so much noise Mrs Hudson had to go next door to sleep." His eyes widened in horror until he saw her struggling to keep down a laugh and he rolled his eyes.

"Really?" She shook her head.

"We did sleep together, literally. No adult situations or anything." She teased and he nodded, wincing at the motion.

"Where's the aspirin?" He asked Sherlock who shot him a disbelieving look.

"I'm not your pharmacy, John." He retorted, "Find them yourself." John growled and began to search through the cupboards in the kitchen. Faye blinked in surprise, he'd gotten her some but none for John. Sherlock caught her eye and she beamed at him, slightly touched by his behaviour as John grumbled, storming off to the bathroom. Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out the packet of aspirin, waving it at her. She snorted and he winked, putting it back and going back to his work.

_~0~0~0~_

Molly Hooper looked in the reflective surface of the light above the examination table, wondering for the third time if she should go put some make-up on. She wasn't a big make-up wearer, but maybe she should... the door opened and it was too late, Sherlock stalked in with his coat flaring behind him and straight up to the table, DI Lestrade following with his hands in his pockets.

"Where is Mr Johnson?" Sherlock asked immediately and Molly nodded, pulling the zip down on the body bag in between the three. She loved it when Sherlock was in 'work' mode. Mr Johnson stared up at them, well, he would have if his eyes hadn't been closed before he'd been bagged.

"Male, 37, 164lbs, gunshot wound to the chest and right thigh." she listed off timidly.

"Yes, thank you Molly for pointing out everything we already know." Sherlock mocked and she blushed in embarrassment as he began to examine the body for himself.

"Sherlock?" A woman with dark brown hair popped her head into the room, but Sherlock didn't flinch, "I've been into three other rooms looking for you."

"I told you where we were going." He snapped in reply as he tilted Mr Johnson's head upwards, "The chocolate bar could of waited." Molly, eyeing the woman in surprise, suddenly noticed the Terry's Chocolate Orange bar the woman held in her hand.

"No it couldn't." She retorted, "You might not eat, but I do." She smiled brightly at Molly, "You must be Molly. I'm Faye, nice to finally meet you." Molly looked confused.

"You know who I am?" Molly asked and Faye nodded, heading to the table.

"I've heard a lot about you. You're really smart, I know that much." She took at look at the man, pulling a face at the body. Molly felt herself smile, Sherlock had been talking about her, "John's always saying how nice you are." Oh, maybe not.

"John wouldn't have stopped to get some chocolate." Lestrade grumbled, still not very happy with the woman who threw his phone out of the window. She, in turn, smiled widely at him.

"Aww, miss him sweetheart?" She teased, turning to Sherlock, "Why did you need to see the body? You know everything about the case?"

"One can never have too much information." He replied slowly before snapping his magnifying glass shut, pushing the man on the side to see the exit wound from the bullet, "For example, this exit wound does not line up with the front entry." She frowned, tilting her head to look at the hole he was showing her.

"Wait, so he was shot from behind as well?" She exclaimed and he nodded, "Bugger hell, what a bad day." Sherlock let the man drop back onto the bag and took off one of his leather gloves, sticking his finger and thumb directly into the entry wound. Lestrade grimaced as he rummaged around, pulling out two bullets. Faye held out her hand for him to drop the metal into. She pushed them around on her palm.

"One's longer than the other." She noticed and he looked at them.

"So, different guns." He suddenly grabbed her arm, pushing her to the middle of the room with some protest. He pointed at her as if aiming a gun, his eye line directly down the barrel.

"If I was shooting from here..." He murmured, "This is not where I'd aim. Size of entry says the gunman was quite close, so if I was going to kill you I would aim for your heart or your head." Faye nodded as the other two watched them.

"So if he wasn't trying to kill the man, who was he trying to kill?" She finished.

"There was another gunman." Sherlock confirmed, "On the other side. Both fire at each other, for some reason Mr Johnson gets in the way. Bullets hit in his chest, no one else drops so the one behind him shoots again. The sudden shock of being shot causing the one in front to mis-aim, hitting the already dead Mr Johnson in the leg." Sherlock turned to Lestrade, "There was no other body, so the gunmen are both still alive, otherwise they would have taken Mr Johnson as well. You're looking for someone with a gunshot wound in the right-hand side." Lestrade nodded, pulling out his new phone and Sherlock turned back to Faye, "How was that?" She shrugged.

"I dunno." She replied, Molly watching the exchange, bewildered at how to two were acting around each other, "Seems a bit too easy." He frowned.

"Easy?" He scoffed, "That was not easy. No one else knew there was two gunmen!" Faye sighed dramatically then nodded.

"Fine." She admitted, "You win. It was pretty impressive." He nodded, looking smug, "I'll let you take my fridge apart."

"Your fridge?" Molly asked her and she turned to Molly.

"I promised that if I was suitably impressed I'd let him take apart my fridge. It's something to do with the Freon inside."

"That sounds really dangerous." Molly replied, looking at Sherlock in concern but the man rolled his eyes.

"How else am I supposed to spend my time? Not all of us can get drunk and sleep with our friends." She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I told you, I didn't sleep with John." She snapped before turning to Molly, "He knows that as well." Molly didn't really know what to say. Sherlock was still acting like himself, but then he was teasing this woman. He was never like that with her, it was like the Sherlock version of being totally relaxed.

"No, you just kept trying to sleep with me." She smacked his arm.  
"Oh shut up, you arse." She scolded, "Come on, Lestrade might have something else for you to do. Maybe a double homicide."

"We can only hope." Sherlock turned and stalked out, coat flaring again behind him. Faye turned back to Molly.

"It was lovely meeting you, Molly. Are you coming over for Christmas?" Molly nodded after jumping back into reality from her thoughts.

"Oh, yes, for a little bit." Faye grinned and patted her on the arm.

"Brilliant. I shall see you there." She turned and lightly jogged out, "Sherlock! Wait up, will you?!" Molly watched her leave before turning to Mr Johnson, sighing and getting him ready to be put into his own little drawer like the rest of her workload. Maybe she should have worn makeup after all.


	15. Christmas

_Get ready for a cheesy scene. Of course there is, it's Christmas XD_

_Again, just a giant thank you for your support. I wouldn't be continuing this without you, so cookies for everyone :)_

_~0~0~0~_

It was the day before Christmas Eve, which was when everyone had been able to make the time to get together before people went off with their families. Faye had managed to find her cute headband with the slightly over-the-top green and red ribbon bow on it, and she was wearing it whilst she helped John with the two foot Christmas tree she had brought for him and Sherlock. It was pre-decorated, it just needed fluffing out at the edges to make it look perfect.

"I still can't believe you weren't going to have a Christmas tree." She told him, "I'm disappointed in you, John."

"Sherlock was against putting the lights up." He replied, "A tree seemed a bit too much to ask for."

"You need a tree." She stated firmly, "Otherwise where would you both have put your gifts?" She turned and reached into a carrier bag, pulling out two relatively similar sized, neatly wrapped presents and placed them under the tree.

"Oh, you didn't need to get us anything." John exclaimed before shooting her a grin, "But it does go nice with this..." He reached under Sherlock's chair, which they were closer to than his, and pulled out her gift. She gasped happily as he handed her it, "I hope you like it." He paused for a moment, "It's from Sherlock too." She shook her head as she squeezed it. It was soft.

"No it's not." She corrected, "He doesn't buy gifts, or even think about it. But it's sweet you'd lie about it." She placed a kiss on his cheek before placing it next to the other two. John tried to stop himself blushing, but when he realised he couldn't he jumped up and headed into the kitchen.

"I wish you'd reconsider singing tonight." He called as he checked the nibbles in the oven, "Mrs Hudson would love it." Faye watched him go before reaching in the carrier bag, pulling a third present out and placing in right against the wall, hidden from view.

"I don't want to make it all about me, John." She replied, "It's Christmas, no one wants to hear my caterwauling." He placed the tray out of the oven on the side before heading back into the front room.

"Mrs Hudson would. And I've listened to you a lot over the last few months, you're fine."

"What the hell is that?" They both spun from their places on the floor and saw Sherlock stood in the middle of the room, pointing at the tree angrily.

_~0~0~0~_

Greg was very surprised as he followed John into the front room of 221B, being hugged tightly by Faye wasn't something he would have expected to happen that night, but there she was, squeezing him tightly. She was smiling brightly at him.

"Merry Christmas DI Lestrade." She exclaimed happily, "Would you like a drink?" She turned and dashed into the kitchen. He turned to John, who was smirking slightly, amused by his friend.

"Apparently she really likes Christmas." John explained, "She even managed to convince Sherlock to keep the tree." He pointed at the tree with his own bottle of beer as Faye reappeared with another one.

"There you go." She told him before hopping over to Mrs Hudson, sitting by the older woman's legs.

"Oh, please Sherlock." The woman was begging, "You know I love it when you playing the violin."

"I am not a performing monkey." He replied from his chair, "That is Newbarns' job." She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Shut it, arse." She snapped teasingly in reply, Mrs Hudson letting out a fake gasp that had them all in giggles. John handed his girlfriend a glass of wine.

"They're always like that." He promised her, "He'll call her unimaginative in a minute." Jeanette nodded tensely. He hadn't really shut up about the pair since she'd turned up.

"Have you yet to think up a different insult?" Sherlock asked Faye and the still-brunette woman shrugged.

"Why change what's not broken?" She retorted, "You are an arse. Play for Mrs Hudson." She stood up and headed to the window where the instrument stood. She handed it him before heading back to the window out his view. He pointedly put it on the ground next to him. Mrs Hudson turned to Greg, realising she wasn't getting him to play for her at the moment.

"Have you anyone to spend the holidays with, dear?" She asked him. Faye leant against the wall next to the tree, watching the little group as Greg explained he was back with his wife, and then John telling his girlfriend about his sister Harry. Sherlock stewed silently in the middle of this mismatched group, all there only because he was.

"_I see trees of green_." She started slowly and quietly, no one noticing straight away, "_Red roses too. I watch them bloom, for me and you. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world._" John was the first one to notice and his attention shifting turned everyone else to her. She had her eyes closed, a contented smile on her face, "_I hear babies cry, I watch them grow. They'll learn much more, than I'll ever know. And I think to myself, ohh what a wonderful world._" It wasn't really a Christmas song, but she felt bad for Mrs Hudson, who just wanted some happiness at Christmas before she headed to her sisters, "_The colours of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky. Are also on the faces of the people passing by. I see friends shaking hands, saying, "how do you do?" But they're really saying, "I love you"._" She opened her eyes to see them all staring at her, including Sherlock who had even stood up to look at her. Feeling suddenly very unselfconscious as his gaze bore into her, she closed her eyes again, "_I see trees of green. Red roses too. I watch them bloom, for me and you. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world._" She had to know if he was still watching her. She opened her eyes and there he was, eyeing her with a calculating look, "_And I think to myself, what a wonderful world._" She trailed off, blushing lightly as Mrs Hudson slowly climbed out of John's chair, heading over to hug her tightly.

"That was beautiful." The woman promised her, seeing her discomfort. Faye hugged her back. She just wasn't used to singing in such an intimate setting. The last thing she wanted was for them to laugh at her for it. Suddenly the first strings of 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas' filled the flat and Sherlock was playing his violin. She rolled her eyes with a smile, trust him to try and one-up her, "Oh Sherlock." Mrs Hudson exclaimed happily and Faye helped her back to the seat.

"Show off." She muttered as she headed over to Sherlock.

"You looked uncomfortable." He muttered in reply, only audible to the pair and she nodded.

"I was." She replied before realising that he had started playing to take the attention off her, "Thank you." She leant up, placing a kiss on his cheek as Molly appeared in the doorway.

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock rushed out of the flat quicker than Faye had ever seen him leave. Everything had been going so well, then he'd found that stupid phone. Irene Adler. She'd just begun to get over that stupid woman, seeing Sherlock slowly ignoring the woman's presence in the world had helped her, but then he'd been so focused on her that it all had shattered around her, her illusion of a happy life with him destroyed once again. She watched the taxi drive him off to Bart's, Molly having already left when the body had been called in. Jeanette, John's girlfriend, feeling a bit out of place as the rest worried about him, headed over to Faye. John talked too much about the other woman, but Jeanette didn't really have much else to go on other than John seemed to like her, so she stood at the window as Faye continued to stare out even though Sherlock had been long gone.

"They're all so worried about it." She told Faye quietly, "All because of some phone? They pander to him too much, I don't understand it."

"That's fine." Faye replied, just as quietly, "Because I don't understand why John is with a stuck up cow like you." Jeanette blinked, equally surprised and offended and Faye turned to her, "You've sat there all night, not even trying to get to know any of John's friends because you think they're beneath you."

"You're just jealous." Jeanette defended, "You wish you were with John instead of me." Faye nodded.

"I am jealous." She admitted, "I'm jealous of the way you can get what you want. If I was like you, Sherlock would be here with me instead of rushing to the side of some slutty dominatrix. Alas, I'm stuck with you."

"You want that freak?" Jeanette scoffed and Faye's eyes narrowed. The next thing anyone knew was Jeanette screaming as she went flying into the Christmas tree, Faye's fist balled up from punching her.

"Say that again!" Faye demanded, walking over and pulling her up by her hair, "Call him a freak one more time, I fucking dare you." Greg rushed over, grabbing Faye and removing her from Jeanette as John rushed to the his girlfriend's side.

"I thought Sherlock was the mental one." The woman snapped, "But it's you! You're insane!" Faye nodded.

"Maybe I am." Faye snapped, letting Greg hold her back, "But I know that the last thing Sherlock's going to come back heartbroken, and you're the last person he'll want to see is you. John's too good for you! Hell, _I'm_ too good for you!" Jeanette stormed over to Faye, slapping hard.

"You're welcome to them both!" She turned and stormed out of the flat. John made to go after her, but knew it was pointless so he turned back to Faye.

"What the hell was that about?" He asked angrily. Faye shrugged out of Greg's grasp.

"If I ever hear any of your girlfriends talking about Sherlock like that again, I'll kill them." She promised before storming out herself, heading into her flat. She'd never been able to handle people calling Sherlock freak, it reminded her too much of school, but that wasn't why she was angry. She was angry because of Irene Adler. Because she was just more proof that she was inadequate, that no matter how she tried she still couldn't get past feeling like a fifteen year old girl, being rejected by the boy she fancied. She knew that she acted younger than her age, but that was because she couldn't get over being hurt so deeply at that age. Something was really wrong with her. No wonder he wanted someone like Adler.

She glanced over at the mirror on the wall of her living room. She hated mirrors, but she didn't want people to know so she overcompensated by having them scattered throughout her flat. There, in the mirror, was the image of her fifteen year old self, with her brown frizzy hair and boring brown eyes. Back when she wasn't Faye Newbarns.

"I hate you." Mary hissed at her reflection, "You disgust me." She reached up, picked the mirror off the wall and smashed it against the floor with an anguished cry.


	16. A Step in the Right Direction

_I hope you like this chapter :) And yes, Gene Hunt is in my trinity of favourite TV characters (Sherlock and The Doctor being the other two :P)_

_~0~0~0~_

John was sat on the sofa, his hand fingers rubbing against his temple as Mrs Hudson and Lestrade searched the flat for anything that might tempt Sherlock.

"_He's on his way._" Mycroft told him through the phone pushed against his ear, "_Have you found anything_?"

"No." John replied, "Did he take the cigarette?"

"_Yes._"

"Shit." John swore, turning to see Mrs Hudson come out of Sherlock's room, "He's coming. Ten minutes." He explained.

"There's nothing in the bedroom." Mrs Hudson stated and he turned back to the phone.

"Looks like he's clean. We've tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight's a danger night?" He pressed.

"_No, but then I never am. You have to stay with him, John._" John nodded to himself, he wasn't leaving until tomorrow, he could push it back to the evening.

"Of course." He replied.

"_Is Miss Newbarns there?_" Mycroft asked. John glanced at the door.

"No. She punched my date then stormed out. Apparently she insulted Sherlock, although I'm not sure." He wasn't as bothered about it as perhaps he should have been. If Jeanette had really insulted Sherlock, then they obviously weren't destined for each other anyway.

"_She's not answering her phone._" Mycroft explained, "_Has she left it in your flat?_" He didn't question why Mycroft was ringing her. The relationship between the older Holmes and his friend downstairs was still a mystery to both him and Sherlock, but if Sherlock hadn't deemed it untrustworthy then John wouldn't question it further either. Maybe they were dating. He grimaced at the thought of Mycroft dating anyone.

"Not that I know of."

"_Is she downstairs?_" Mycroft asked and John glanced at the door.

"I think so."

"_I need you to go look._"

"I thought you wanted me to stay with Sherlock?" John replied and Mycroft sighed angrily on the other side.

"_He will not be there for ten minutes. Will you please go check on Miss Newbarns?_" He asked again. John stood up, replying with a simple smile to Mrs Hudson's confused look, and headed out into the stairwell. He was halfway down Faye's stairs when he heard something crashing to the ground.

"Faye?" He called, letting the phone fall to his side as he rushed down the remainder of the steps, throwing the door open to see Faye bring an already broken piece of mirror smashing violently on the ground in front of her, the shards joining the hundreds all around her, "Jesus Christ!" She turned to face him, one brown eye and one blue eye bright red from the tears streaming down her face. Her gaze shot to his hand and she scrambled through the broken pieces of glass, barely making it to her feet as she pawed at his hand.

"Give me the phone!" She begged and he let her hold it shakily to her ear, "Mycroft?" She sobbed, shaking as she fell to her knees again, "Please come get me. Please." She shook her head, "No, please Mycroft. Please come." She took a couple of deep breaths, obviously taking instructions from the man on the other side before she held the phone to John, "He wants to speak to you." He took the phone off her and placed it slowly to his own ear.

"Yes?" He asked quietly.

"_If she's bleeding, clean her up._" Mycroft barked, "_I should be there before Sherlock._"

"What's going on, Mycroft?" John asked but the Holmes man just hung up on him. John still wasn't quite used to the rudeness the Holmes brothers seemed to possess, and for a moment his anger flared until he looked down at the woman by his feet, staring at her hands that were streaked with blood from tiny cuts. He knelt down in front of her, causing her to look at him, terrified.

"Faye, what happened?" He asked and she looked at her hands again, then into his friendly face.

"I just wanted her out of my mirror." She whimpered, sounding like a child.

"Who?" He asked.

"Mary." She was so quiet it was like she was just mouthing the name. It didn't really clear anything up, but he didn't want to push her. She had been so angry when she'd smashed the mirror so he smiled gently at her, placing a hand on her arm.

"Let's clean you up." He commanded gently and he helped her up, making sure to manoeuvre her around the broken glass and he sat her on the sofa. He fetched some kitchen roll and some water and set about gently cleaning her hands. She didn't flinch or say a word, just watched him work as she slowly calmed down.

"I'm sorry I punched Jeanette." She eventually whispered and he shot her a gentle smile.

"I know you are." He promised her and she smiled weakly in return, "So do you go mad at mirrors often?" He asked her lightly and she shook her head.

"Not anymore." She replied sadly, "The last few years I've been fine. This... this is just a setback. I'll be fine." She nodded once, more reassuring herself than John. This was ridiculous. She shouldn't let anyone set her back like this. She'd been quite content with herself until that slut had turned up. So what if Sherlock noticed her? John said she'd been naked for most of the time they'd been at her house. He may be a bit different to other men, but she'd be worried if he hadn't noticed a naked woman when he saw one. And so what if Adler was pretty? The woman had to be, otherwise why would she be so popular? The one thing she did know about Sherlock is that he could recognise conventional beauty when he saw it. And M-Faye had really grown into herself. She should dye her hair back blonde. Maybe even get rid of the contacts. No, that was a bit drastic, but the blonde hair was a good idea. She grinned at John, leaning forward and placing a kiss on his forehead, "Thank you John." She told him sincerely. He'd made her feel so much better, what would she do without him in her life?

"Good." He replied with a nod, unsure of how to react to her sudden change in mood, "Don't worry about Adler. You're much prettier that her anyway." He blinked, surprised at himself, "I mean..." She giggled at his floundering and squeezed his hand to calm him down.

"I know what you mean." She promised as the door slammed open and Mycroft stalked in, his usual grace shadowing any concern he may have had. She positively beamed when she saw him, reaffirming John's theory that she was dating the older Holmes brother. She stood up and walked over to Mycroft, "I'm okay now, I'm sorry you had to come." He looked her up and down, then glanced around the room.

"You've made quite a mess, Miss Newbarns." He replied stiffly and she nodded.

"Oh, I'll clean that up in a minute. Why don't you go home? It's nearly Christmas and Sherlock might need you." She could feel him analyse her but the smile on her face didn't fall.

"I will have someone come clean this up." He told her firmly, "You can spend the night in my guest room." She shook her head.

"I can clean up my own mess. I'm not a child, Mycroft."

"And yet you insist on smashing mirrors as if you were one." He retorted before grabbing one of her hands, inspecting the little cuts there, "Not too much damage this time, I suppose we should be thankful for small mercies." He let her hand drop, "I still insist you come to my house this evening." She shook her head.

"I'm fine here, Mycroft." John stood up, walking over to try and defuse the impending argument he could see coming towards them like a train.

"She can stay up in our flat." He offered, "I can keep an eye on her as well as Sherlock." Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Yes, because you did a fine job stopping her coming down in the first place. I think not, Dr Watson."

"Hey!" Faye exclaimed angrily, glaring at Mycroft, "This was not John's fault and I will not have you talk to my friends like that Mycroft." He stared her down for a moment before turning to John.

"Apologies, Dr Watson. It has been a trying night for all of us, my temper is slightly frayed by the events." John nodded, still slightly annoyed with the man's attitude but nothing ever changed in that regard. Faye turned to John, seeing the distress Mycroft was hiding perfectly.

"It might be best for me to go with him." She told him, "Thanks for the offer, but you need to focus on Sherlock. I'll come back before you go to your sisters." John frowned.

"I thought you were going to your parents." She shrugged.

"Oh that? Yeah, I lied. I always do. My parents go on a cruise every Christmas, they hate the cold." she turned back to Mycroft, "We better go, Sherlock will be back any minute." Mycroft nodded and motioned for her to go first. They headed up the stairs just in time for Sherlock to slam through the front door. He shot a quick, dismissive glance at the trio before heading up to the flat above. Faye watched him go sadly before patting John's shoulder.

"If you need me, just call." She told him before hugging him tightly, "Merry Christmas, John." He hugged her back, placing a kiss on the side of her head.

"Merry Christmas Faye." He headed up after his best friend and Faye turned to hers.

"Come on then. Stately mansion it is then." She fell into step by his side, waiting until they were seated in the back of the black car before taking his hand in hers.


	17. Soul Sister

_I did check, and the song was released in 2009. Continuity for the win XD_

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock stuck his head of his bedroom door, sniffing deeply. He'd taken refuge in his room that night, but he knew John was at his sister's until the 28th, so who was cooking? He glanced down and saw the plate of chips and eggs waiting by his door, still steaming so it hadn't been there too long. He stepped suspiciously into the hallway, around the food, and made his way silently into the kitchen. He could see her head, only just, over the back of John's chair. She was facing away from him, but she was eating in the quietness of his flat. Why was she even there? When had she gone blonde again?

"You don't have to eat it all." She called gently, starling him like a deer caught in headlamps, "But try and eat something. It won't do you any good to starve on Christmas day."

"Why are you here?" He asked harshly in reply, "Shouldn't you be with your family? Isn't that what people do at Christmas?"

"I am." She retorted, "Well, I would be if John hadn't gone to his sister's. No matter."

"Let me guess." He continued, "They've put you on watch duty."

"Nope." She replied lightly, "Mycroft wanted me to spend the day at his house, but it's so stuffy there. I wanted to be here."

"Oh yes, your mysterious 'relationship' with Mycroft." He sneered, "His hired prostitute, I'm guessing."

"Wrong again." She countered, not sounding half as offended as he would have liked, "He's the best friend I've ever had." Sherlock blinked, having not expected that, "I know I annoy him most of the time, but I don't know what I'd do without him."

"Mycroft doesn't care about anyone but himself." Sherlock told her, "Whatever fantasy you've concocted is delusional at best."

"I know who he is, Sherlock." She replied stiffly, "But he's always been there for me. You never have to be worried about me and Mycroft, because he knows that I'll never spy on you for him and I know he's never going to ask me to change."

"I'm not worried." He turned and stalked back to his bedroom.

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock." She called after him and he paused, hand on the doorhandles.

"Merry Christmas, Faye." He whispered before heading inside. She waited until she heard the door shut before looking around, smiling despite the shine of tears in her eyes to see the plate had disappeared. She turned back to her own plate of chips and carried on eating them in silence.

_~0~0~0~_

John had come back to find Faye lightly sleeping on their couch whilst Sherlock played his violin. He wasn't entirely sure how she could sleep through the music, but she was obviously out of it. Sherlock didn't acknowledge him as he played a slow, sad piece so after being ignored for a few hours, John set about demolishing the Christmas tree. There really wasn't much point of keeping it up. He was just finishing folding the last branches of the artificial tree up when he spotted the small package wedged behind the feet of the tree. It had red wrapping with cartoon snowmen and reindeer dotted on it. He flipped the tag over.

"There's a present for you here, Sherlock." He called but the man didn't stop playing, "From a Mary. Mary Hudson." He was about to suggest she was a relation of Mrs Hudson when Sherlock's bow slipped, creating a screeching noise that caused John to wince and Faye to roll over with a snort.

"Mary?" Sherlock asked quietly and John nodded, turning and holding the present out to him.

"Yeah. Is she related to Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock placed his violin down and stalked over, ripping the gift from John's hand and checking the tag.

"No, she's dead." He replied shortly and John started in surprise.

"Then why is she sending you Christmas presents?" Sherlock didn't reply. The tag was in her writing. It had progressed, as handwriting did with age but he had seen that writing every day for the best part of 9 years whilst at school. He'd watched it develop, that was Mary's handwriting.

"She obviously isn't dead. Mycroft lied to me." He tore the paper off and saw a picture of his younger self with a brown-haired girl staring up at him, "'_Remembering you always, Mary.'_" He read off the writing scrawled on the picture, also in the same handwriting. She was alive. She had to be. Then why did Mycroft...? He turned and stormed to his bedroom, slamming the door and startling Faye awake, who screamed lightly as she fell onto the floor. She looked around, disorientated before smiling up at John.

"Oh, did I fall asleep?" He nodded, helping her up, "It's Sherlock's violin, it's so calming." She looked over to the window where he normally stood playing to see the area vacant, the violin propped up against the wall, "Oh, for God's sake! He'd _just_ come out of his bedroom this morning." She flopped onto the sofa, "What happened to put him back in there?"

"He got a present off someone called Mary." John replied, sitting next to her, "Mycroft ever mention her?" She nodded, running her hand through her hair.

"She was a friend at school. She left when he was 15 or 16. Did it really upset him?" She asked.

"Apparently she's dead. Or, was dead." John replied, leaning onto the back of the sofa, "One woman has just died and another has come back from the dead. That'd throw a normal person, God knows what's going on in his head." Faye nodded slowly, glancing worriedly in the direction of Sherlock's room.

"Will he be okay?" she asked John timidly and he grabbed her, pulling her into an over-the-shoulder hug.

"I'm sure he will be." He promised her, "You can stay here tonight, though, if it makes you feel better." She nodded, snuggling into her friend. She really should ring Mycroft. Why had Sherlock thought Mary was dead? But she just wanted to stay with John and Sherlock, so she closed her eyes.

John frowned slightly as he felt Faye drift off against his side. Something wasn't right. In Sherlock's words, there was something he was missing.

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock really didn't know why he had followed her. The first attempt to unlock Irene Adler's phone had been a disaster, and John had been acting strangely since he'd returned that afternoon from... well, wherever John went when he wasn't around. Waitrose, mainly. All he knew was he had to get out of the flat that normally was his safe haven, so when he'd seen her leave for the first shift she had at the bar she worked at since Christmas, he had followed her without a word to anyone.

Irene Adler was dead. He wasn't entirely sure how to file that one away. He was upset, he was sure of it. She had been interesting, a step away from the ordinary that he craved. And in return, she'd left him an even more frustrating puzzle. He'd never met anyone quite like her.

Mary. Well, Mary was something else all together. She had gone home one day from school, and he'd never seen her again. It had taken two years of questioning and searching for Mycroft to finally admit that she'd died, and no one had known how to break it to the quite fragile younger Master Holmes. He'd been devastated, that he was sure of. But she wasn't dead, she never had been. Knowing she was out there and had never once tried to find him? He actually refused to think on that, nothing could be changed and so he had to focus on finding her.

He left in 20 minutes before heading into the bar after Faye, ordering a bottle of some house beer from the man behind the counter before leaning on it, looking out into the room coolly. Everything he had expected from the outside, a mainly student bar with a couple of fashionable types hanging around, people who wanted to be younger than they were. They were all giggling and talking loudly as they sat dotted around the room at tables, or stood leaning against pillars in little groups. Music played in the background, but it wasn't overbearing. He took a sip of the cheap liquid, trying not to grimace as he waited for her to come out onto her shift. She couldn't see him there, but he needed to watch her in her normal environment.

Faye was the third fascinating aspect in his life. At first she really grated on his nerves. She stole his storage space, practically tricking Mrs Hudson into letting her rent it and refused to leave. John decided to become attracted to her, and even though over time she became less and less annoying, his need to have her around was very disruptive. Then, after a string of terrible dates, Sherlock had decided that having him in a relationship with Faye might have been the best thing all round for them. John was happy and she wouldn't try and detract him from cases. But then, one day she came in with brown hair and light blue eyes and he realised how much he missed the blonde woman she had been before she decided she needed to change into Irene. She had been the second person in his life to forcibly try and be a part of his life. John had sort of slid in, the need for a room-mate forcing the unlikely duo into a friendship. It was Mary. She had taken one look at him at the beginning of primary school and hadn't left his side until she disappeared.

The lights dimmed unexpectedly and there was a small cheer from the girls up near the front of the make-shift stage. A ukulele began strumming within the shadows of the stage and a small light fell on the blonde woman sat in the middle of the stage on a high stool, a huge grin on her face as she waved at the crowd.

"_Your lipstick stains, on the front lobe of my left side brain. I knew I wouldn't forget you, and so I went and let you blow my mind._" Faye sang and he paused with the bottle poised by his lips, wondering if he was actually seeing her for the first time without any pretences up, "_Your sweet moonbeam. The smell of you in every single dream I dream. I knew when we collide, __y__ou're the one I have decided who's one of my kind._" He vaguely recognised the song from radios whilst he had been out. It suited her, somehow. He shook his head, drinking the rest of his beer in one mouthful before leaving before she had finished.


	18. The Americans

_Another episode tie-in. Hope it's okay._

_Thank you for your lovely words and support, once again it means the world to me._

_Although, I didn't mean to make you mad at me :'(_

_~0~0~0~_

She was alive. Irene Adler was alive. People kept springing back to life around him, didn't they? How was he supposed to react to that? The world was a haze around him as he headed back to the flat, leaving John with Irene in the abandoned warehouse he'd followed them to. He reached up to put his key in the lock when he noticed it. It was unlocked, but more than that. It had been bashed him. Someone was trying to get into the building. He placed on hand on the door to open it.

"Oh, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson rushed from the sandwich shop next door, all flustered. He immediately noticed the cut on her forehead and the fact her tights had a tear in the knee from when she'd fallen to the ground. He held a hand up, silencing her as fury built up inside him. Someone had hurt Mrs Hudson. He slowly pushed the door open and Mrs Hudson watched him head inside. The door to 221A was slightly ajar, and a bucket of cleaning supplies was strewn across the floor. Someone had interrupted her cleaning. There was black scuff marks on the wall leading up to his own flat, someone's boot had caught as they'd headed upstairs. He lightly traced fingermarks on the wall, someone's vain attempt to stop being taken upstairs. Female, small, Mrs Hudson again. Someone, no, two, _three_ someone's had tried to take her up to his flat, but she'd escaped. How? She wasn't young, quite the opposite and everyone had heard her moaning about her hip. He continued tracing the lines, them getting minutely thicker. Someone else had tried the same approach. Another woman. He glanced around again before slowly making his way upstairs.

_~0~0~0~_

The first she heard was Mrs Hudson exclaiming in surprise, then shouting in terror. She quickly climbed the stairs to see three men in dark suits carrying the woman up to Sherlock and John's flat whilst the woman called out for help. Her eyes narrowed and she quickly rushed over, grabbing the man by Mrs Hudson's feet and pulling him back as hard as she could. It was purely because he hadn't been expecting her that the man tumbled down, Faye knew that, but she didn't have time to dwell on it as she grabbed Mrs Hudson, tearing her out of the surprised grasps of the other two men and pulling her into her, taking the brunt of the force. She stumbled slightly but still managed to push the woman towards the door.

"Next door!" She commanded quickly and ushered Mrs Hudson out. The three men didn't take long to follow and Faye had to push Mrs Hudson down the step onto the street before she was grabbed, the door slamming to a close as Faye screamed. Mrs Hudson didn't want to leave the poor girl, but she was no use to anyone at her age, so she dashed next door and waited for Sherlock. She did consider ringing the police, but like Sherlock, she knew when to involve them and when to wait. So she waited.

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock purposefully and eerily calmly stepped through the open door of his flat and into the living room, where three men were stood waiting. One had a gun pointed at Faye's head as she sat tied to a chair in the middle. She was smirking, although it turned into a more relieved smile when she saw him.

"About time." She said, her voice breaking slightly and betraying the bravery she was trying to portray.

"Please don't cry." He retorted lowly, "It'll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet." She let out a giggle, slightly watery considering she was crying as he looked the man behind her directly in the eye, "What a tender world that would be."

"Is Mrs Hudson okay?" Faye asked but Sherlock ignored her. She relaxed slightly, that meant 'yes'.

"I believe you have something that we want, Mr. Holmes." The man replied instead, keeping his aim squarely on the back of her head. Sherlock walked over, keeping his gaze on him to the last moment when he looked down at Faye.

"Then why don't you ask for it?" He retorted, reaching out and tilting her face. She had a cut on her right cheek, and blood was trickling from her nose. Her eye was going to bruise.

"I've been asking this one. She doesn't seem to know anything." Sherlock's gaze went to her skirt, which had been torn up the side in the struggle, "It seems she may be your girlfriend. Seems a shame to keep her in the dark over these things."

"And you thought taking my girlfriend would make me want to tell you _more_?" Sherlock retorted lowly and her heart skipped in her chest at the fire burning in his eyes that the rest of his body hid perfectly.

"You know what I'm asking for, don't you, Mr. Holmes?" The man asked and Sherlock's eyes flicked to his right hand, the one holding the gun to her head. There was a blood-stained silver ring, the one the would have caused her to bleed. Immediately he started picking out all the best target points on his body, the ones that would kill him quickly and very painfully.

"I believe I do." He murdered, standing up straight and taking a step back from Faye, who tried not to whimper at him leaving her. She wasn't happy about being tied with her hands behind her back, she wanted to reach out and stop him leaving her, but that was what she got for putting up a fight against the dickheads. He stood in front of them, his hands behind his back, ready for business, "First, get rid of your boys." He commanded.

"Why?" The man snapped.

"I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room." Sherlock explained. Faye snorted despite herself and the man jammed the gun slightly firmer against her head before turning to his colleagues.

"You two, go to the car." Sherlock turned to one, rolling his eyes.

"Then get into the car and drive away." He turned to the main guy behind her, "Don't try to trick me. You know who I am. It doesn't work." He warned them. The man nodded and the other two left the room, following orders to drive away, "Next, you can stop pointing that gun at my girlfriend."

"So you can point a gun at me?" The man retorted. Sherlock took another step back, holding his arms out at either side.

"I'm unarmed." He promised.

"Mind if I check?" Sherlock shook his head.

"Oh, I insist." The man slowly walked around Faye, heading to Sherlock and patted his pocket from slightly in front of him, now training his gun on the detective. Deciding his front was clean, he headed around to check the back. As he patted his shoulders, Sherlock shot a wink at Faye that brought another smile to her face and he reached into the coat, bringing out a spray can from Mrs Hudson's cleaning supplies and spun around, spraying the agent in the eye. As he screamed in surprise, Sherlock head butted him, sending him to the floor, unconscious and he flicked the can once in victory.

"Moron." He muttered, slamming the can onto his desk before hurrying over, dropping to his knees in front of Faye and reaching around to untie her.

"That was brilliant." She told him quietly as the neck tie they had used fell away. Sherlock lent back, cupping her face as he checked her nose, then the cut.

"You're all right now, you're all right." He repeated with the same hushed tone. She nodded, her heart finally slowing down.

"Yes." She reached out, grabbing his scarf and pulled him close, placing a kiss directly onto his very surprised lips. She quickly let him go, as surprised as he was, and nodded towards the man on the coffee table behind them.

"What are we going to do with him?" She asked, clearing her throat as she did.

_~0~0~0~_

Throw him out of the window, apparently. That had been Sherlock's plan. After keeping him restrained, and John turning up. He had wanted her to leave Sherlock to it, but she'd sat on the sofa and refused to move so he left to check on Mrs Hudson. Sherlock sent her to his room and into the pocket of his dressing gown, and she pocketed the phone before coming out, proclaiming she way okay.

"You know, Mycroft is going to kill him." She declared later that evening. She still hadn't moved from the sofa, and had no intentions to either. John had gone for the takeaway and Mrs Hudson had gone to bed, the excitement having worn the poor woman out. Sherlock sat next to her on the sofa.

"No he won't." He retorted and she nodded.

"You're right." She agreed, "Mycroft will get someone else to kill him."

"He would never get his hands dirty." He finished. She sat a bit straighter, playing with her own fingers as she scooted a bit closer.

"I heard your friend came back from the dead." She stated and he shrugged.

"Miss Adler is not my friend." He corrected and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hide the wince at the fact she was the one who came to his mind first.

"No, I meant Mary." She explained. He frowned at her, confused, "John told me about the present. Apparently you thought she was dead."

"Mycroft told you about her?" She nodded non-committally.

"Did you miss her?" She asked in reply.

"I looked for her for two years, then Mycroft told me she'd died. Why would he hide her?" He twisted on the spot to face her, seeing her smiling softly at him, "Your eyes are brown today." He noted lightly. Her hand went automatically half-way to her face in reaction.

"I was putting my contacts in when they came." She remembered, "I haven't had a chance to put them in."

"Don't." He replied before he could stop himself and they stared at each other before he noticed something else. He grabbed her wrist, examining the bruise there from the restraints earlier, "I knew one more time wouldn't have hurt." He muttered. He pushed the sleeve down to see how bad it was, frowning further as he saw the faint scars there. He looked up at her questionably and she stared back sadly.

"Did you think it stopped with just my face?" She whispered and his eyes darted again, trying to spot other signs of abuse on her before falling to her arm again.

"Moronic." He declared and she nodded.

"I know." The front door opened downstairs and Sherlock leant closer, his lips brushing against her cheek, knowing John would be there any second.

"Happy New Year, Faye." He told her, letting her go as John opened their door and he stood up, heading to the window as if he'd stayed there the entire time. John rolled his eyes at his friend's anti-social behaviour and smiled brightly at Faye, who looked slightly dazed.

"Here we go." He declared loudly, waving the two white plastic bags in the air, "Food for three." Faye tried to return the smile and nodded.

"The hunter-gatherer returns." She teased and he laughed, heading to the kitchen to plate up. Sherlock watched in the reflection as she followed him, her fingers tracing on her cheek timidly.


	19. Irene Adler

_A bit longer chapter. Not much, but a little bit :) Please don't be mad, I'm just trying to scare Sherlock a bit ;)_

_Ohh, my tumblr is Dannifielding for anyone who cares, a lovely guest reviewer mentioned they were following me, didn't know if anyone else would. I just tend to reblog pictures of Benedict Cumberbatch, Matt Smith and things that make me laugh, but you're welcome to ask me questions and things :)_

_~0~0~0~_

Molly really liked watching Sherlock work. His mind in full gear, the knowledge that zoomed around his brain was almost tangible. He sat at the computer, flicking through some x-rays he'd managed to get her to let him take. He wasn't supposed to be there, her supervisor had warned her about it, so she paced nervously. A hand fell onto her arm and she jumped, startled.

"Hey." Faye shot her a reassuring smile, "It's all right. Don't fret, if we're caught we'll just tell them you 'stumbled' upon us here. No harm, no foul." Molly replied with her own queasy smile.

"Is that a phone?" She nodded towards the pictures and Faye nodded.

"It's a camera phone." Sherlock corrected, feeling the significance of that was being overlooked by the pair. Faye rolled her eyes, but she still smiled fondly at him before turning back to Molly.

"Would you like a cup of coffee or something?"

"Yes, please." Molly smiled gratefully, "No sugar, please." Faye patted her arm again and she turned to Sherlock.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" She asked.

"Peace and quiet." He retorted and her eyes narrowed slightly, bowing her head.

"Of course, _Your Highness._" She told him sarcastically, heading towards the door.

"And you're X-raying it?" Molly asked Sherlock, who didn't look away from the pictures.

"Yes, I am." He confirmed.

"Whose phone is it?" She pressed as Faye headed back, reaching into her coat to get the money she'd forgotten.

"A woman's." Was all he gave Molly, who frowned, suddenly on edge. A woman?

"Your girlfriend?" Molly tried and Faye paused, waiting for his reaction. He glanced at Molly.

"You think she's my girlfriend because I'm X-raying her possessions?" Molly shrugged, letting out a nervous giggle.

"Well, we all do silly things." She offered.

"Yes." He suddenly stopped what he was doing to turn to face the pathologist, "They _do_, don't they? _Very_ silly." He released, almost scrambling to his feet as he reached into the x-ray machine, pulling out the phone and holding in purposefully in front of him, "She sent this to my address, and she loves to play games."

"She does?" Molly turned to Faye, looking for answers to see the woman wincing, as if something painful was happening. Molly knew that look, she'd felt herself pull it quite a bit around SHerlock. Suddenly, Faye didn't feel so much of a threat as she once did. She smiled at the woman as Sherlock sat back down, exasperated at another failed attempt.

_~0~0~0~_

The second time he didn't exactly follow her. He waited exactly an hour after seeing her leace the building to head to her bar, this time she was already on stage when he entered. He knew she didn't sing every night, he was sure John told him that bit of information. He'd waited until the same weekday came around, guessing correctly that she'd have a regular spot. She was standing this time, a gaggle of university students around the stage, acting as her own little groupies. She was smiling as she stood behind a microphone stand.

"_These lines of lightning mean we're never alone, never alone, no, no,_" She was singing, grasping the microphone with both hands, "_Come on, Come on, Move a little closer. Come on, Come on, I want to hear you whisper. Come on, Come on, settle down inside my love._" As the song picked up tempo he glanced around, barely hiding behind another group of people as John appeared at the bar. He couldn't remember the doctor leaving the apartment, but John did always seem to disappear during the lulls between cases. He turned and swiftly headed out, flipping up his collar as he headed home.

_~0~0~0~_

John wasn't really sure what to do. Sherlock had stormed out, muttering something about Bond Air a couple of hours ago now, and Miss Adler was still walking around in his dressing gown. He'd been polite, offered her a cup of tea then had settled down to his computer, checking those websites that he checked every day, whilst she sat on his chair, looking pensive.

"John!" He smiled to himself before looking over at Adler in alarm. He scrambled up from behind the desk.

"Faye, wait a..." But it was too late, she entered, a huge grin on her face.

"Guess what?" She cried happily, trailing off as she saw the woman in his chair. He watched her eyes dart across Adler, her joyful demeanour dropping instantly. Adler smirked, pushing herself up and walking over with a swagger.

"So you're Faye Newbarns? Sherlock's 'girlfriend'." She made quotation marks in the air around the pretence she and Sherlock had set up at the Palace. Faye looked her up and down pointedly.

"So you're Irene Adler?" She retorted, "Sherlock's 'slut'." John winced slightly at the hatred behind her comment, "It's a shame some of us just can't stay dead." She turned to leave.

"It's a shame you dyed your hair back blonde." Irene taunted, "You suited dark brown so much better." Faye closed her eyes, inhaling deeply before spinning around.

"Nah." She replied, "It felt really cheap, wouldn't you agree?" Irene laughed.

"You're jealous of me, aren't you? Because I know what he likes, and it isn't you." Faye's face hardened.

"Don't presume to know anything about me." SHe snapped. Irene took out her phone, keying the code in again and flicking through some messages.

"Faye Heather Newbarns." She read, "Born 23rd March 1983, went to an all-girl's primary school, but CoE secondary. Passed with average grades, but managed to go to King's College to study Classic Literature. Never married, but a string of quite frankly boring boyfriend's until you ended up here. Mother's called Lucy, father's called Graham. No siblings, but you did have a dog when you were young. You still miss her." She locked the phone again. John, shocked at the amount of information she had on Faye, and possibly on himself, turned to face Faye, who had a furious smirk plastered on her face.

"Did your 'sources' get that?" Irene cocked her eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Faye stepped slightly closer, looking her in the eye, "Then you need better sources, Miss Adler." Irene frowned.

"Excuse me?"

"What you just recited was the history Mycroft and his little henchmen created for me. It is seven years old, at best." Irene blinked, the cockiness in her face draining, "I suggest you hire better people to do your dirty work for you. I'd lend you mind, but obviously it's hard to find good help." Irene didn't reply and Faye looked down her nose at her, "Embarrassed, Miss Adler?" She mocked, "Perhaps you should put some clothes on now. Sherlock's not here, there's no one for you to impress." Irene turned and headed towards Sherlock's bedroom, fuming to herself.

"Faye doesn't exist?" John asked quietly from behind her.

"She does." She corrected, "She just hasn't for very long." She reached into her jeans pocket, John saw how her hands shook and realised she wasn't as calm as she'd been letting on, "Mycroft?" She checked as the person on the other side of her phone answered, "I'm leaving. I want out, and I want it now. Do what you want with my stuff, I can't do this." She paused for a second, "I don't know, Skegness or Southend. I'll decide when I get to the train station." John's heart stopped.

"Hold on, what?" He asked but she waved a hand to stop him talking anymore.

"I'm not letting him do this to me again, Mycroft!" She exclaimed, "Or that whore in his bedroom. I don't want to hate Faye as well, I like her." Another pause, "No, this is all your fault!" She screamed, "You were supposed to be my friend! And you did this to me, because you wanted me to spy on your little brother!" She hung up on him, heading to the window and opening it up, and unlike with Lestrade, she chucked her phone as far as she could before slamming the window down.

"Can you please just tell me what is going on?" John asked her firmly and she turned, tears in her eyes.

"You've been looking at me since you got back like you've been trying to work something out." She replied instead, "And when you do, please don't tell Sherlock."

"Why shouldn't I?" He snapped, "Why is everyone _always _keeping secrets?!"

"When you work it out, you'll know." She replied quietly, "You have all the pieces John, you'll get it." She laughed sadly, "Stay safe, John." She moved to leave and he grabbed her arm, spinning her into him and slamming his lips on hers. She tensed and he let go, almost frozen by his actions.

"I don't know why I did that." He told her honestly and she shrugged.

"You're angry because I've lied." She reasoned, "And you're my friend, you don't want me to go. These things come out in strange ways." He stared at her but she didn't move, letting his gaze run over her as he remembered little things she said, finally piecing them together..

"You're Mary." He whispered in realisation, "The dead girl." She nodded slowly.

"Yes." She replied.

"You saw Mary in the mirror." He remembered, "And you hated her so much, you just wanted her to go away. Mycroft made her go away." She nodded, "Sherlock called you ugly." He continued, "That's why you cut your face."

"It took me years to get over it." She replied, "Much longer than it should of. Mycroft looked after me, made sure I was as okay as I could be. He created a new life for me, because the only way I could escape her was to become someone else."

"And now he wants Adler." John finished and she nodded.

"I can't let him do this to me again." She insisted, "My whole life has been dictated by a couple of observations he made when he was 15. It's not his fault, but I have to remove myself before I hate Faye too." John stayed silent, letting the information rush over him before he shot her a smile.

"I'll miss you." He told her honestly and she shot him a huge smile.

"I'll miss you too." She headed to the door before pausing, "There's three fridges in my living room. I was going to let Sherlock take them apart. Make sure he knows they're there."

_~0~0~0~_

John sighed, after trying to get Sherlock to listen to him repeating over and over he was going out to the bar Faye had been working at, and slipped his coat on.

"Where is Newbarns?" Sherlock spoke up. He'd expected her to have come up looking for John if he was going to her place of work.

"She," John cleared his throat, looking at Irene for a moment before back at Sherlock, "She moved out." He rolled his eyes, shooting John an unamused smile.

"No, really?" He pressed and John shook his head.

"She's gone." He insisted, "I'll be back later tonight. Try not to get into too much trouble." He left before he said anything stupid, like ranting at Adler for destroying their little new-found dynamic. Sherlock shot up after him, rushing down the stairs and grabbing the door handle to 221C, throwing it open to find the room empty of everything but three dingy fridges sat in the middle of the floor.


	20. The Mansion

_Oh wow, look at all you people following my little story and reviewing! *waves* hello!_

_Just a quick food for thought, he wasn't looking for Mary because he thought she was dead. Now he knows she isn't._

_~0~0~0~_

Anthea had been waiting outside for her with a black car. Faye had quickly and quite angrily told her that if Mycroft didn't feel it important to stop her personally, she wasn't going anywhere with his minions. Anthea, without looking up from her phone, told her he was busy trying desperately to fix the international disaster his little brother had caused, courtesy of Miss Adler, and he would be with her once it was sorted out. She had climbed in the car after that, her curiosity getting the better of her and she'd been taken to his overly showy, stuffy mansion house. She did love it there, really. The grounds were simply stunning, but she wasn't in the mood to be happy with Mycroft so she stormed inside, heading straight to her bedroom and chucking her small suitcase on the bed, pulling out her pyjamas and fluffy blue dressing gown, slipping into them. If she was going to be there, she was going to be comfortable.

Despite the 'guest room' he told John he had set up for her, she actually had a small bedroom she could run to when... well, when Mary reared her ugly, non-conventional head. No mirrors, just a window and a huge double bed for her to cry in. She sat on the edge, looking around with clasped hands. Now what? She'd need to find another place to live in London, so she could keep her bar job. She might have to flat share, prices like Mrs Hudson really didn't come up very often. She'd hated to lean on Mycroft so much, but maybe he could swing something for her. She'd just turn around and never see Sherlock again. Let him have his Irene Adler's.

But she didn't want that. Not again. Could she really go another 15 years without seeing him, turning up as someone new just to try and entice him again? Wasn't it better to have him as a friend than not at all?

She stood up, tired of her resolve to leave dissolving so quickly. She headed out into the hallway, down the stairs to the sitting room, then to Mycroft's office. She wandered around to she came to his dining room, never used by anyone unless he was holding a dinner party. There, by the already burning fire, was an armchair and her sofa from his main office. She couldn't help the huge smile that broke across her lips or the tears that joined it. She climbed onto the well-worn two-seater, stretching her feet to the other side and snuggled down, watching the fire spark.

_~0~0~0~_

Mycroft held the door open, letting Miss Adler in first, then stepping in himself, letting the large wooden door swing close on Sherlock. Not that he particularly cared, his mind was still trying to process the mass amount of information it had received over the last evening. Faye had moved out, with no word of warning and he _would_ have noticed. John had been very defensive about it when he'd followed him to try and find out why, only finding out it had something to do with Irene Adler. Before he could get to the bottom of it, he'd been summoned to his brother to find out the real meaning of the plane reservations. He'd been correct, but when wasn't he? Then _she _had appeared. She'd played him perfectly, and now he had to watch his brother try and make the best out of a situation he'd created.

Ever the gentleman, Mycroft pulled one of the ornate wooden chairs to his dining table out and Irene sat in it. Sherlock headed for the fire, blinking in surprise as he saw Faye asleep on the sofa next to it. She'd run to Mycroft. Whatever the woman across the room had done to her, she'd taken refuge with his brother. She'd been tied to a chair and beaten up, but she hadn't left his side. She hadn't gone to John either, because of him. His hands clenched and unclenched as he listened to his brother vainly attempt to negotiate his way out of the mess trying to impress Irene Adler had caused. He reached over, placing a hand on Faye's shoulder and shook her gently. She blinked away, staring at him, confused as to why she was seeing Sherlock. He held a finger to his lips and shot her a wink.

"You've been very ... thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you." Mycroft admitted, defeated by the harlot in front of him. Faye frowned.

"I can't take all the credit. Had a bit of help." Irene retorted, glancing over at Sherlock who had knelt in front of the sofa. How... odd, "Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love." She continued. She positively beamed when Sherlock looked over at her, oh he hadn't see that coming, had he? Something else she'd managed to keep from him. She turned her attention back to Mycroft, he had what she wanted.

"Irene?" Faye mouthed and Sherlock placed a finger to his lips before getting back into the chair. A finger on his own lips and a simple word said by her had clinched it, now he just had to bide his time.

"Yes, he's been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention." Mycroft told her, "Which I'm sure can be arranged." Faye tilted her head, watching Sherlock as his eyes darted, completely lost to the room as he was known to become. He was working out something.

"I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it." Irene explained as she perched herself on the table, "Thank God for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. D'you know what he calls you? The Ice Man," She looked over at Sherlock, "and the Virgin." She was disappointed by his lack of reaction, all he did was close his eyes, "Didn't even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now _that's_ my kind of man."

"And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees." Mycroft finished, standing up slowly and wearily.

"And your 'girlfriend'." She called over, making quotations in the air again, and Sherlock's eyes snapped open and Faye grinned at the fire burning there.

"Nicely played." Mycroft bowed his head slightly as she straightened further, confident in her victory. Faye, eyes locked with Sherlock's, sat up, startling the two across the room.

"Actually," She said slowly, "I think..." she tilted her head, "Miss Adler, you might just... be losing."

"I'm sorry?" Irene laughed, "I think I might have won."

"No." Sherlock stated confidently.

"Sorry?" Irene asked again but Sherlock didn't take his eyes off Faye, brows furrowed as he seemed to search her gaze.

"I said no." He repeated, "_Very_ very close, but no." He stood up, turning and walking over to Irene, "You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much."

"No such thing as too much." Irene pointed out, stepping slightly back in trepidation.

"Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine, craving the distraction of the game – I sympathise entirely – but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side." He told her simply. She frowned.

"Sentiment? What are you talking about?"

"You."

"Oh dear God." She said calmly, looking him over, "Look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?" He shook his head, leaning closer to her.

"No." He reached forward, catching her wrist between his fingers before leaning even closer, his mouth almost touching her ear as her breath caught in her throat, "Because I took your pulse." Faye, still completely bewildered, but really enjoying Sherlock destroying Irene, glanced at Mycroft, who was stood straight, watching the pair with indifference. He caught her gaze and a faint smile tugged at his lips. She grinned back, he was enjoying it too, "Elevated;" Sherlock continued, "your pupils dilated." He let her go, reaching behind her and picking up the camera phone she'd left on the table, "I imagine John Watson thinks love's a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple, and very destructive." He stepped away, placing as much distance in between him and Irene to still be dramatic, but close enough she could see what was happening.

"When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you: the combination to your safe – your measurements; but this," He chucked the phone up, catching it one-handed, "this is far more intimate. This is your heart and you should _never_ let it rule your head." He started typing the code into the phone, "You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you've worked for but you just couldn't resist it, could you? I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage. _Thank_ you for the final proof." With the fear she was feeling fully evident on her face, Irene grabbed his hand and stilled it before he could finish.

"Everything I said: it's not real." She told him, a tear rolling down her cheek, "I was just playing the game."

"I know." He whispered in reply, typing the last character in the code onto the screen, "And as Faye said, this is just losing." He turned the phone, revealing the code to her and no one else. He then held it towards Mycroft, "There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight." Mycroft took it, nodding slowly.

"I'm certain they will." He replied and Sherlock spun on his heal, heading back towards the fire.

"If you're feeling kind, lock her up; otherwise let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without her protection."

"Are you expecting me to beg?" Irene cried after him.

"Yes." He replied flatly, stopping at the chair next to Faye. She stared up at him, trying to work out what he was thinking, but like always, she never could.

"Please." Irene eventually begged, "You're right. I won't even last six months." He didn't turn to her, instead he held a hand out towards Faye.

"I suspect you're coming with me." He stated confidently. She looked over at Mycroft, unsure to do. He nodded minutely and she turned back, taking Sherlock's hand. He didn't let go as they walked out of the room, making sure Irene saw them leaving together before letting her tighten her robe around her.

_~0~0~0~_

"I'm not staying." Faye stated firmly from next to Sherlock in the black government car, "I'll sleep on your sofa tonight, then I'll come back here."

"Don't be absurd." Sherlock bit out, "You're not going anywhere. You were never going to leave Baker Street." She looked offended, but sighed, knowing she would have probably found her way back again at some point, "You couldn't have left John."

"Why do you keep trying to get us two together?" She asked him.

"I do no such thing." He defended.

"Yes you do." She laughed, "You keep sabotaging his dates, like when you called him home from dinner for _Eastenders. _You weren't expecting it to be just me, he had a date with..." She frowned, annoyed she couldn't remember the woman's name, "Doesn't matter. You keep ringing him back from dates, but never when he's with me. _And_ I've heard the 'three drinks' thing." She smirked as he shifted lightly at being caught out, "I may not be Sherlock smart, but I'm not blind. John doesn't fancy me, and I don't fancy him. Sorry, you'll have to deal with his string of women."

"Why not?" He asked her and she shrugged.

"If I knew, I'd change it." She replied and they fell into silence for a moment, "Why did you take her pulse?" She asked and he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He reached to his side, slowly wrapping his hands around her wrist before lifting it up. She watched with wide eyes as he didn't tighten his grasp, rather pushed the sleeve up to see the faint scars on the pale skin there.

"This was absolutely moronic." He pointed out and she nodded, "I'm sure John will lend you his bed." He remarked, "He can sleep on the sofa." He dropped her arm and she snorted, shaking her head.

"You're such an arse." She retorted and he joined in laughing with her.

_~0~0~0~_

John stepped into the room, rubbing his eyes to get rid of the sleep there. He double took at the sleeping figure of Sherlock on the couch, a fluffy blue dressing gown draped over him. He frowned, scratching his head comically as Sherlock's bedroom door opened and Faye walked out. She smiled brightly and rushed over, chucking her arms around John and hugging him tightly.


	21. John

_It's a bit of a short, I know, but I didn't want to fall out of updating everyday. I promise the next one will be better. It's a bit quick, but... I don't know, just go with it and we can move on from it tomorrow XD_

_Thank you for sticking with me. _

_~0~0~0~_

There wasn't many things in the world that Faye hated more than Mary. The sight of the 15-year-old could drive her into a fury only matched by her terror of Daddy Long Legs. However, the one thing she really hated was when Mycroft could predict what she was going to do. She had been so sure she wasn't coming back to Baker Street, but here she was, pushing her furniture out of her bedroom by herself. He hadn't removed it, or rather he hadn't had it removed, he'd just told them to pile it all into the bedroom because she was going to go back! It wasn't that she wasn't happy to be there, because she was, but really? Did he have such little faith in her decision-making?

Mycroft once told her that if she was in a situation she really couldn't handle, all she had to do was tell him she wanted out and he would remove her from it. It wasn't something she had to call on very often, really only a couple of times. Like when her last room-mate, Katherine, had heard her mother called her Mary and had started screaming at her. He had turned up in under half an hour to take her away. She should have known something was up when he hadn't come personally to get her. Stupid bloody Holmes. The pair of them! She grunted as she pushed her sofa into place using her back.

"Want a hand?" She looked over at the door and saw John there. She smiled brightly at him.

"No, I'm done now." She replied, sitting on the sofa and staring out into her otherwise empty room, "Well, I'm done for now, anyway." She corrected, patting the cushion next to her, "No case today?" He sat next to her and she eyed him curiously when he didn't seem to make himself comfortable.

"Sherlock's still in bed." He replied and she looked at her watch.

"It's like, 3pm!" John nodded.

"I know." They fell silent for a moment, "So, you're called Mary?" She shook her head, sitting up and twisting to face him. She knew he was going to come to see her about it eventually. She'd been thinking about it since she'd stepped back into Baker Street with Sherlock, about what she was going to tell him.

"No, I'm Faye." She told him, "Mary doesn't exist anymore. Well, except for my mum. She won't call me Faye."

"And you knew Sherlock as a kid?" She nodded, a faint smile on her face. He hadn't shouted, which was partly what she was frightened of. She had just felt... one person should know. Mycroft knew, but he'd always been there, it couldn't be helped. John was someone she could tell, someone she could try and explain it to.

"He was my best friend. I met him when I was 4, just as I entered infants school. He didn't have any friends and I didn't like that. I felt that everyone was suppose to have a friend, it offended my sense of togetherness. I refused to leave him alone. I never did."

"Until you tried to cut off your face." John retorted and she nodded, the smile falling and John felt slightly bad at chucking it in her face.

"He was... he _is_ amazing. And it was fine, because he didn't notice anyone like that. I could fancy him from the side and he was none the wiser. And I didn't have to watch him fawn all over other girls because he just didn't care. But he had noticed me." She reached up to rub her cheek roughly, feeling the dints from the scars hidden there. Most people didn't notice them, but she couldn't ever forget they were there, "And he'd dismissed me. To be told I wasn't 'conventionally pretty' by the boy who didn't notice pretty?" she shrugged, "I tried to change myself, my parents found me. I was shipped from school to residential units, saw shrink after shrink and tried to top myself on more than one occasion. The only way I could stop her being so destructive was to not be her anymore. Mycroft created Faye Newbarns and I've never really looked back." John stared at her and she shifted, uncomfortable under his gaze as he tried to read her. She'd lied about everything, about who she was. But she hadn't, not really. She'd never really mentioned her past, and the only thing she had said was that she couldn't talk about her and Mycroft. He'd never asked, he wasn't one to pry like that into other people's business. Which was odd considering he'd become a detective's assistant.

"Why would Mycroft do that?" He eventually asked, "He doesn't care about anyone but himself."

"He doesn't care about anything but himself and Sherlock." She corrected, "I saved Sherlock's arse on more than one occasion, lied to teachers, stood up to bullies. Once I let three boys beat me up just so they'd leave him alone. At first Mycroft felt he owed me for that. I just wormed my way into his heart, I suppose."

"You do that." John retorted and she stuck her tongue out at him.

"I know it's probably really weird for you." She told him, reaching out to take his hand, "But apart from my name, and the fact that Faye can eat a full plate of chips and Mary won't eat anything if she can help it, nothing much is different. I promise." He looked down at her hand, fingers laced with his then sighed, wondering why he was even going to ask.

"And do you still, you know..."

"Fancy him?" She finished for him and she shook her head, "Not still. I did move on from him. Had a string of boyfriends and one night stands. Then I met him again. I tried not to, but he's still magnificent. And still an arse." John nodded, agreeing with her completely. He then sighed again, torn over what to do.

"I should tell him." He started slowly, "But I don't see what good that would do him. Or you. He will figure it out eventually, though." She grinned and chucked her arms around him and he laughed at her behaviour.

"Oh, thank you John!" She squealed like a teenage girl before letting him go, leaning back onto the sofa.

"You know, I still may get really mad about this." He warned her, "You're lucky you're my friend I like you, otherwise who knows how I'd react." She nodded, a serious look on her face.

"You have every right to be." She replied, "You can take your time, let me know when you're comfortable with me again. If you don't, that's fine too. You mean a lot to me, John. I hope you can forgive me." He observed her for a moment before sighing, shaking his head. It _was_ nice knowing something the great Sherlock Holmes didn't. Maybe he could lord it over him like Sherlock liked to do with him? It was something to think about, anyway.

"Do you remember when he was drugged?" She nodded, looking as confused as he expected her to, "He wasn't talking about Irene. He was talking about you."

"What? That can't be right."

"You can't tell him." John insisted, "But he kept going on about her legs. I thought it was because he'd just seen her naked, but then he mentioned 'girlfriend'. It was because he was remembering the Palace, and that pervert looking at your legs." She blinked, surprised.

"You mean, he noticed me?" She whispered and he nodded, smiling sadly at how happy she seemed.

"Yeah, he did."


	22. Gaming

_Bit of a light-heartedness for you all :) Hope you like. If you do, drop a review, or don't XD_

_~0~0~0~_

John came into the flat in yesterday's clothes, a silly smile on his face from the night before. He'd met a lovely woman called Karen at the bar M-Faye worked at, and they'd been on a few dates. She was a bookkeeper, 36 and very, _very_ friendly.

"Ha! Suck on that!" He jumped, jogging around the corner to see Faye and Sherlock sat in front of the television, Sherlock in his chair and Faye on the floor, both with game controllers in their hands.

"How does a pink ball of air stand any chance against an armoured turtle?" Sherlock grumbled, "Best three out of five." Faye reached up behind her and shook Sherlock's hand.  
"Deal." She glanced out of the corner of her eye and smiled at John, "Have a good night?" He nodded slowly, motioning between the two.

"What are you doing?" He asked them.

"Playing a game, John. It's not that hard to... Oh for god's sake!" Sherlock groaned as Faye won again. She laughed, grabbing the edge's of the plastic bag covering her hair and readjusting it.

"Pay up!" She held her hand behind her again and Sherlock begrudgenly handed her a £20 note.

"What's on your head?" John asked her.

"Oh!" She grinned, "Sherlock's dying my hair."

"This is entirely unfair." Sherlock pointed out, "You've had years playing this 'Game Cube'."

"We agreed." She sighed, "We played chess, so it was my turn. You managed to score 50 quid out of me for that, so you're still up."

"Not by enough." Sherlock grumbled.

"Is this what you two do when I'm not here?" John asked, "Bet against each other and do each other's hair?"

"Don't be stupid." Sherlock retorted, "I'm only dying her hair because I walked in on her trying to do it herself and suggested it would be easier with two."

"He wanted to cut it as well." Faye added, "But I told him he had to read a few more books on it first."

"What did you expect us to do?" Sherlock continued, "Sit there in silence until you came home? How incredibly self-centred of you." John rolled his eyes and turned, heading out of the room as the two started to argue over which game to play next. Sometimes he did wonder why it was Sherlock and not him. Not that he wanted to be with her, they were really good friend's and it should stay that way, but sometimes... Then he saw them two interacting day-to-day and he realised he really didn't want to get into the middle of that.

Faye glanced up at Sherlock, pausing the game with a smirk on her face and he winked at her. He counted down silently from five, using his fingers as he mouthed along.

"Sherlock!" John screamed from upstairs, furious, "Where is my bed?!" Sherlock hopped off the chair behind her, holding his hand out to help her up.

"Oh look, time to rinse the dye off." He said smugly and the two dashed off towards his bathroom as John came barrelling downstairs.

"You can't hide from me, Holmes!" He shouted, coming into the empty room. Damn, he had to keep them two apart!

_~0~0~0~_

_Lifestyles of the rich and the famous. They're always complainin'. Always complainin'_

One thing that was brilliant about living in London was the ability to blend in with the crowd, so no one would notice or care how you were walking down the street.

_If money is such a problem. Well, they got mansions, Think we should rob them._

Faye walked with her headphones in, dancing slightly to herself. People didn't shoot her strange looks, or see her mouth along to the song blasting into her head. That was until she crashed into a man, sending herself to the floor and causing him to stumble slightly. He crouched down in front of her, his lips moving quickly. She reached up and popped an earphone out.

"Sorry?" She asked and he shot her a bright smile, standing up and holding his hand out with a laugh. She smiled back, taking it and he helped her up.

"You were just grooving to your own tune, weren't you?" He asked, a soft Irish lilt to his voice. She shook her head, looking him over. He was wearing a grey suit, but had a black long coat over the top. Office type, maybe? She blinked the thought out of her head, she wasn't Sherlock, she wasn't supposed to try and analyse other people.

"No, actually, it was Good Charlotte." She admitted, "Sorry, I didn't mean to walk into you like that. I was just..." She shrugged, not really knowing how to finish that sentence without sounding incredibly childish.

"No, no it's fine." He replied, "My pleasure, really." She blushed slightly.

"Well, still, sorry." She nodded her head in a sort of bow, stepping forward to move on when he grabbed her arm.

"Look," He started, letting her go knowing he had her attention and running a hand through his short black hair, "I don't normally... What I mean is, you know... Do you want to get a drink sometime? Or dinner, or something?" She shot him an apologetic look at his stammering.

"Sorry, I'd love to, but I have a boyfriend." She casually lied. He nodded, looking slightly put out.

"Of course you do." He replied, "You're pretty, of course someone has you already. But, if you change your mind..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and after rummaging in his suit jacket pulled out of pen. He scribbled his number down and handed it to her, "Call me. Even if it's just to meet up. I am excellent company." She smiled, nodding and taking it off him.

"I'll remember that..."

"Richard." He told her, flashing her a smile, "Richard Brook."

"Faye." She offered, not giving him her last name, "Nice to meet you Richard." He nodded his head and she started walking away.

"Don't forget!" He called after her and she turned, smiling and waving at him before heading on her way, clutching the piece of paper and smiling a teenage smile.

_~0~0~0~_

Faye had just made it back to Baker Street with enough time for a nice nap before work when the black car pulled up next to her. She walked over and tapped the tinted back window and it rolled down, revealing one of Mycroft's assistants.

"If he wants to talk." She told him, "He can come here. I have work in a few hours, I need to sleep."

"Mr Holmes has..." He began.

"I don't care." She interrupted him, "Tell him to come to me, Shaun." He tried to keep his professional indifference in his expression before it fell into an pleading pout.

"I can't go back without you again." He moaned, "I'm already on sofa duty!" Faye shrugged.

"Not my problem. I'm going to bed." She turned to walk away.

"But what do I tell him?" She smirked, glancing over her shoulder at him.

"Tell him I'm having passionate and creatively flexible sex with Sherlock and John." She retorted before unlocking the door, giggling to herself at the shocked look on his face before humming to herself as she headed to her flat.

_~0~0~0~_

Her phone was ringing. How annoying, it wasn't even her alarm tone. She reached over to her bedside table, brushing the light browny-red hair out of her eyes and answered it.

"What?" She snapped groggily.

"_Did you tell Mycroft you were having sex with me and Sherlock?_" John asked and she laid back down on her pillow.

"No." She replied, "I told Shaun to tell him that. Why?"

"_He's up here now._" He replied, "_She says she told Shaun to tell you._"

"Why's he up there and not down here?" She asked, confused.

"_I think he wanted to catch us._" John told her.

"Pass him the phone." She commanded and there was a little shuffle.

"_That was not amusing, Miss Newbarns._" Mycroft drawled from upstairs.

"Oh, I'm 'Miss Newbarns', am I?" She retorted, "Of course it was funny. It was hilarious. You should have seen Shaun's face."

"_The expression was probably reflected on my own._" Mycroft replied, "_I was in the middle of a very important conference call..._"

"Oh, blah blah blah." She interrupted, "You wouldn't have sent for me if it was that important. I'm not going anywhere with you, I'm still pissed off at you."

"_And why is that?_" He asked, exasperated and her eyes narrowed.

"Because you told Sherlock I was dead." She snapped before hanging up and rolling over, placing her phone by her head before forcing herself to go back to sleep.

_~0~0~0~_

"What did you say to Mycroft?" Her eyes snapped open as her bed bounced and she blinked up at Sherlock.

"Why won't people let me sleep?" She groaned, rolling over.

"He left looking positively ill." He replied, "I want to know what you said so I can say it to him next time he shows up unannounced."

"I told him we were having sex." She snapped back, "Now let me sleep, I have work at 8."

"Yes, I know." He retorted, "Your alarm was beeping insistently. I had to turn it off." She shot up, staring at him in shock and slight horror.

"Oh my god, you turned my alarm off?!" She screamed, scrambling for her phone, "Oh my god, I've got be there in 10 minutes!"

"I've already rung them up." He told her, "Said you had come down with a serious case of food poisoning. Probably from the day old Chinese you'd eaten for your dinner. They passed on their best as told you to call back in a couple of days." She stopped trying to scramble out of bed and frowned at him.

"Why would you do that?" She asked, confused.

"Because, believe it or not, I require your assistance." He admitted begrudgingly.

"My assistance?" She repeated, still confused and he nodded, "Why can't John help you? He's your normal... assistant."

"John's refused to cancel his 'date'," He made quotations in the air, "to help me with this particular puzzle." Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"So you called in sick for me?" She asked slowly, knowing it couldn't be all that important if John was still going on his date with Karen.

"Well, of course." He told her, "It's your Game Cube." Her mouth fell open slightly as he stood up, "Hurry up, this Mario fellow is very tricky." He headed for the door, pausing slightly, "Oh, you might want to put a shirt on." He added, "You might give John a heart attack." He left and she looked down in horror, remembering she'd gone to bed naked.


	23. An Invitation

_Over 100 reviews? Oh, thank you all so so much ^_^ _

_Glad you seemed to enjoy the last chapter. Hope this one is okay too XD _

_~0~0~0~_

A black car pulled up next to John as he was about to reach Baker Street and he sighed, wincing slightly in annoyance before he walked over to the back door. Before he grabbed the handle the blacked-out window rolled down and there was a man sat there in a suit, with short brown hair who looked decisively bored.

"Could you send Miss Newbarns down?" He ordered and John glared at him.

"I'm not her secretary, you know?" He snapped, "Why don't you go get her yourself?"

"She refused to leave your apartment." The man reluctantly admitted, "And the last time I tried to physically move her anywhere I was placed on cake duty." This was obviously a bad thing, but even though he really didn't want to, John turned and headed into the flat, making his way upstairs to his living room. Faye was sat on the sofa sideways, using her knees to prop up her laptop.

"Hey, come help me." She replied, not looking up from her screen, "I don't know which colour to buy." He walked over and saw pictures of different eyes staring back at him.

"You're changing your eye colour?" He asked and she nodded.

"Yeah." She replied slowly, flicking to the next range of contacts, "Felt like a change. Did you get what you were looking for?" He nodded, holding up his bag from the book store.

"Yep. Next time, he can go for his own. Four shops it took me to find a book on the life cycle of slugs." He placed it on Sherlock's empty chair, "Oh, there's one of Mycroft's goonies outside waiting for you." She nodded, flicking to another website full of contact lenses.

"Did he leave?" John shook his head.

"He told me to get you to go downstairs." She sighed and placed the laptop on the table, standing up. John quickly covered his eyes with his hand as she pulled her jumper over her head, astounded at how she could just strip in front of him. He parted his fingers to see her stride over to the window and lift it open, leaning out in just her bra.

"I _said_ I was too busy with Sherlock!" She shouted down at the car below, "Unless you want to come rip me out of his bed yourself, go fetch Mycroft!" She leant back in and slammed the window down, watching with an distinct air of satisfaction as the car pulled away. He lowered his hand, quickly slamming his eyes shut as she turned around, "The nerve of some people." She grumbled, grabbing her jumper and slipping it back on. She stared at him, amused for a moment before rolling her eyes, "Oh, lower your hand, John. I'm dressed now." He let his hand fall.

"Can you give me a bit of warning the next time you do that?" He asked.

"You're a doctor." She pointed out, "You've seen far worse than my breasts. Plus, I was wearing a bra." She sat back down.

"That is _not _the point." He insisted.

"Oh, don't make such a fuss John." Sherlock appeared in the doorway, hair still slightly damp from the shower he'd just had, "I saw her naked and you don't hear me going on about it." He walked over to his chair and picked up the carrier bag.

"I'm sorry?" John asked and Faye shook her head.

"Oh, it was nothing." She dismissed, "He came into my bedroom when I was too hot to sleep in pyjamas." She stood up, taking her laptop over to Sherlock's chair and sat on the armrest, leaning over slightly as she balanced the computer with one hand and pointed to the screen with the other, "What do you think of this green?" His brows furrowed as he looked her directly in the eye for a few moments before shaking his head.

"No." He replied, "You need something darker." He snatched the computer off her and skimmed through the couple of pages, landing on a pair of 'Oak Brown' coloured lenses, "These ones." He told her, passing her back the laptop.  
"You sure?" She asked doubtfully and he nodded.

"It goes well with the red hue to the dye we put in." He explained. John watched the two in disbelief before shaking his head and heading into the kitchen.

"Anyone want a cup of tea?" He called.

"I will, cheers John." Faye called back as he switched the kettle on.

"I've already got this one." Sherlock told him, having taken the book out of the bag and John hung his head.

_~0~0~0~_

It had taken Mycroft three more days to come pick her up personally. She knew it was a bit of power play on his part, not wanting to give into her demands but eventually he came around and they'd sat in silence the entire way to his office. He'd had her sofa brought in, and there was already a cup of tea and slice of cream sponge cake waiting for her but she walked right past it, sitting in the chair reserved for his clientèle and other important people.

"This temper tantrum is really getting tiresome." He told her as he sat in his own chair and she glared at him, straightening in indignation.

"You told him I was dead!" She shouted back, "I think it's bloody justified."

"It was the instruction of your parents to have him believe you were deceased so he would stop looking for you. It was for your own benefit." He replied calmly and she leant forward.

"It didn't work though, did it?" She snarled, "It was because he didn't turn up for my 18th that I had to have my stomach pumped, remember? Keeping him away from me wasn't what I wanted. I thought he hated me."

"Which I told you time and again was not the case." He pointed out, "You did just fine without him, Faye. You know that as much as I do. Now you are well again, you two are perfectly happy around one another." He looked thoughtful for a moment, "Well, maybe not quite happy. You changed your hair colour again, but it's getting better, is it not?" She reached up, running her fingers through her red-brown hair.

"He chose it for me." She explained, "Well, I showed him the colour I was going to dye it and he said he thought I'd suit this one better. He helped me do it, but I think I'm going to change it again."

"Have you not just purchased a new set of contacts to compliment this particular colour?"

"Have you been watching my internet again?" She asked angrily and he shook his head, holding his hands up slightly and she rolled her eyes, "No, you've been watching your brother's, and saw me purchase it on his connection." She sighed, "Fine, I've been fine for these last 10 years or so. But it took some awful things to happen to get there, stuff that could have been avoided if I'd just been allowed to go back to normal." He looked at her patronisingly.

"You tried to pull the skin off your skull." He told her tiredly, "There is no normal after that."

"Says Mycroft Holmes." She muttered before sighing, "But did you really have to tell him I was dead?"

"Do you really think he would have stopped looking for you unless there was no one to find?" Mycroft retorted, "He's not sentimental, a grave would mean as much to him as any old stone. You were dead, so he didn't need to carry on the search. I'm quite surprised he brought you up." She bit her lip, looking sheepishly away and he leant forward, "What happened?" He asked lowly.

"Mary _may_ have sent him a present." She admitted before looking back at him, "She wouldn't have if she'd known he thought she was dead. You never told me, how was I supposed to know?"

"Did your parents never brief you?" He asked.

"Normal parents don't 'brief' their children." She snapped back, "But no, they've refused to talk about Sherlock since they found me in the bathroom. If they knew I was practically living with him, they'd go nuts. Which is impressive, considering I'm the mental one in the family."

"What will you do if they find out?" He asked her and she shrugged.

"Absolutely no idea."

_~0~0~0~_

The front door to her flat opened and Sherlock strode in, pausing just inside the door. She looked up from the repeat of the Doctor Who Christmas Special to smile at him, amused by his sudden distracted look.

"You okay, Sherlock?" She asked as his eyes darted around the room.

"Something's new." He muttered, before he walked over to her land line phone and she scrambled up off the sofa, ripping the small piece of paper out of his hand.

"It's... It's just a phone number." She explained quickly, "Some bloke give me it. It's nothing."

"It's on a scrap, so he gave you it in a hurry." He started, "The folds imply you crumpled it up but then flattened it out, so you weren't initially going to call him back but are now considering it. It's still by your phone, so you've not saved it into your mobile. You weren't completely sure over what to do and you don't want him to be able to contact you at any time, so you're going to ring him from you land line. You were going to do it tonight." She blushed slightly, embarrassed but slightly ashamed at being caught out.

"How did you know I was going to do it tonight?" She asked quietly.

"By the speed you ran over here." He scrumpled it up, "No matter, you can't anyway." He chucked it away, over her shoulder towards the television.

"Why not?" She asked, more surprised than angry. The smile he shot her made her actually wish she'd never asked.

"Because we're going to Paris." He explained with a nod, "For three days. Pack a bag." He turned, pulling some paper out of his pocket's, "I've already booked the tickets. Hurry up." She just stared as her front door shut as if he hadn't been there.


	24. Paris

Ready for some nauseatingly sweet stuff? I mean, it's really bad XD So, be warned, it could have come straight from a rom-com.

_~0~0~0~_

When he'd said they were going to Paris, she had obviously expected it to be all three of them. But, apparently, John was too ill to travel across to the continent so she was practically running in Gare du Nord with a small wheeled bag dragging behind her, trying to keep up with Sherlock's large strides. On the two-and-a-bit hour long train journey under the Channel, he'd explained why they were heading to France. According to 'sources' – she had no idea what that meant, but she guessed Mycroft – there was to be a robbery attempt at a Anglo-French banquet being held the following night by someone who was attending. Problem was, they had no idea who and they wanted Sherlock there to work it out. He'd told her that he had a pretty good idea who it might be, and that they might be working with the 'Moriarty' guy Irene Adler had been working with. She didn't like that, she didn't want anything to do with anyone who Irene might have even walked past, but he'd only casually mentioned this when they were emerging on the other side of the water, so there wasn't much she could do about it.

"Will you slow down?" She snapped, catching up to him briefly before falling behind again, "I've only got tiny legs, you know?"

"I know." He retorted, remembering the Palace, but he fell to a stop at the exit door, looking for a suitable taxi for the pair.

"You remember my legs?" She teased as they climbed into the back of a black car. Sherlock shot the man instructions in perfect French and they headed off into the hectic Parisian night traffic.

"I remember anything." He corrected and she shook her head.

"No, you remember what you choose to remember Mr I-Don't-Know-Basic-Astronomy." She pointed out, "Which, by the way, I know you were taught in school so I still don't see how that threw you."

"It was irrelevant then, and is now." He grumbled, falling silent. She sighed, turning to look out of the side window at the bustling city outside. It was beautifully lit up as the people went about their night lives.

"I've always wanted to come to Paris." She told Sherlock, keeping her gaze out of the window, "It always seemed so beautiful in movies." She let out a hollow laugh, "Alas, a girl who cuts her own face cannot get away from Mycroft Holmes that easily."

"It's quite the city." He muttered, glancing at her and she smiled wistfully to herself as she watched the lights dance across her vision.

"Do we have time to go to one of the museums whilst we're here?"

"Perhaps after you've purchased a suitable dress for the banquet tomorrow evening." He offered and she turned, frowning in confusion.

"Hold on, I'm going too?" She asked, "I thought I was just here so you had someone to rant at."

"Of course not." He snapped, "It will look much less suspicious if I turn up with a wife. Robbers do not tend to come with their family." She continued to frown, glancing back outside then turning back to him.

"You mean, I was always supposed to come?" He shot her a confused look.

"Why wouldn't you?" He asked in reply and she shrugged.

"I thought I was here because John couldn't come. Why else would you invite me?" He rolled his eyes, turning back to stare out of the windshield.

"Don't be stupid, Newbarns. It's not attractive." He scolded but she still smiled happily, turning to also look forward.

"Sherlock Holmes has brought me to Paris." She stated out loud before giggling slightly, "If only the newspapers could see this. You'll be labelled a romantic in no time." He snorted and they both started laughing together as they were driven to the hotel.

_~0~0~0~_

She'd bought a dress, although she had no idea if it was suitable or not. All Sherlock had offered her was 'something that doesn't make you look like a tart', which wasn't very useful. He was sat in their shared room in his tuxedo, ready to leave while she rushed around the en-suite trying to make herself look somewhat presentable. She glanced at her small silver watch; he wanted to leave in 10 minutes! She was not ready for this! She'd eventually given up on her hair, curling it ever so slightly so it hung down her back in waves and she'd pulled the front back, pinning it there in a half-up-half-down style. Her make-up was light, with brown eye-shadow to go with her new brown contact lenses, but her heels were going to be too high, she knew it. She stood in front of the mirror, looking herself up and down and taking deep breaths to try and calm herself down. She'd never been to anything so... fancy before. Even Mycroft had always decided to go alone to his social gatherings rather than invite her as his plus one. Did she just stand there and look pretty? What if there was food? Sherlock _had_ called it a banquette. Oh, she was so in over her head!

"Being nervous is not going to achieve anything." Sherlock's voice floated through the door, "If you're doing something wrong I will correct you."

"I'm sure you will." She grumbled in reply, shaking her head and stepping out of the bathroom. He looked fantastic, she thought to herself. Boy, he could really pull off a tux. She had to get him into them more, she decided as she repressed the unintelligible noise that wanted to break itself out of her throat. She had to stand with him looking like that, his hands clasped together and his hair lightly tousled and not say a word? She was a dead woman.

"Well," She cleared her throat as her voice squeaked out, "Well, don't you scrub up well, Mr Holmes?" She tried again. He looked her up and down, scrutinising the knee-length ivory-white dress with a full black lace covering on top, pulled together with a thick cinch belt that went wonderfully with her black heeled shoes.

"Not bad, _Mrs Holmes._" He retorted and she blushed slightly as he seemed to continue staring at her. Oh god, he knew what she was thinking.

"Let me just grab my coat." She murmured, of course he didn't. He was smart, but he wasn't bloody psychic! She grabbed her black jacket, slipping it on and he offered her his arm. She smiled brightly, hooking hers through his, "Oh, this is going to be fun."

"Really?" He asked as he lead her out into the hotel hallway, "I was just thinking the exact opposite."

_~0~0~0~_

He had found the theif. Of course he had, he was Sherlock Holmes. Some relation of some French diplomat up to his neck in gambling debts, wanting to take a prized painting of some lilies and sell it to pay off the money he owed. Less than a hour they were there, and she was sure he was just showing off. He had scanned the room as he'd waltzed her in the middle of the other couples there, checking everyone out and then off his internal list of suspects. She watched his mind race, eyes narrowed and lip pursed together thoughtfully as he worked and still managed to lead her around the floor expertly. Thankfully their mutual schooling had taught them both to dance, otherwise she would have been hopeless. He was so deep in thought and she was so involved in watching him that they didn't notice the older couple until Faye had slammed into the woman.

"Oh, I am so sorry." Sherlock flashed them a winning smile, falling into character seamlessly and the woman flustered slightly.

"That is quite all right." She replied with a thick French accent, "Newly weds?" He nodded, clasping Faye's hand in his.

"Only a couple of months." He lied, "You'll have to forgive us." The man waved him off.

"I remember that feeling." He told them with his strong English accent, "Nothing seems quite a beautiful as her. You think you have to drink it in, but it never fades." His wife blushed, smiling widely as she let her husband wrap his arm around her. Faye smiled warmly at them, there was something always endearing about seeing a couple that age still hopelessly in love.

"I hope not." Sherlock replied, copying the action and holding her close and the woman looked at Faye knowingly.

"I know that smile." She told her and Faye smiled in confusion.

"What smile?" She asked.

"You've been smiling all night, my dear." The woman explained, patting her cheek in a motherly fashion, "And such a beautiful smile. But when he speaks," she tutted lightly, "Oh, you could light the world with it's brightness. He means the world to you." Faye blushed and nodded.

"I don't know what I'd do without him." She replied honestly and the man tugged gently on his wife's arm as the music stopped and everyone clapped.

"Come on Marie, dear." He scolded lightly, "Let's leave these two alone." He bowed his head and both Faye and Sherlock mirrored it before they began dancing again. Faye looked up at him.

"Found our man yet?" She asked and Sherlock nodded, spinning them around so she was facing where he had been looking.

"The man by the staircase." She shook her head, there were lots of men stood by the grand staircase heading into the rest of the building, "Stood directly to the left of it." She spotted who she thought he was talking about.

"Okay, why him?" she pressed lowly.

"He's sweating, dabbing it his forehead with a handkerchief, so he's nervous." He told her and she nodded as the man did just that, "The suit is formal, but a faded black. It's old, and not looked after well. Implies he had money issues, as most here can easily afford new attire for these type of functions. Keeps checking his watch, he's working to a schedule and his eyes keep darting around as if he's expecting that he's being watched." She shook her head slowly in happy disbelief before Sherlock switched them back around.

"Wow, Mr Holmes." She remarked, "You really do know what you're talking about. Now what?"

"Wait until the song is over then discreetly head over to the British Ambassador, tell him and then leave."

"Leave?" His eyes narrowed as he seemed to try and read her again.

"Aren't you as bored as me?" He asked and she laughed, nodded.

"Oh my god, I'm so bored." She agreed and he grinned.

"Good, not much longer now then." He watched her beam at him and tried to hide his surprise. The old lady had been right, her smile had become that little bit brighter as he'd explained his deduction to her. How peculiar.


	25. That Night

_More fluffiness XD_

_~0~0~0~_

It was simply stunning. Golden lighting lit up the intricate iron structure, the grounds around it full of couples and groups of people walking past, people still ascending the Eiffel Tower, which seemed to be open much later than she was expecting. It encapsulated every childish romantic image Faye could conjure up. It was also March, so even in France it was bloody freezing. She had her jacket wrapped as tightly as she could around her, her shoes in hand as she'd stumbled one too many times for her liking. Sherlock had been kind enough to lend her his socks so she wasn't walking barefoot, which was both kind and strange of him. He'd been acting a bit strange since they'd left the banquet, if she thought about it. He'd called a taxi and helped in her, leaning forward and talking in French to the driver, watching her the entire time he was speaking the foreign language. The taxi had dropped them off at the beautiful gardens just on the outside of the famous tower and they'd been walking around it for the last half hour, barely speaking.

"Is this to your satisfaction?" He asked suddenly and she almost jumped at the sudden conversation starter.

"Is it supposed to be?" She replied and he nodded.

"You said you'd wanted to come to Paris. We're leaving tomorrow morning but I thought you'd enjoy this." She smiled and he watched her closely. There it was again, the slight tugging at her lips that signalled how happy she actually was.

"So we came here because you thought I'd like it?" She asked, "No other reason?" He shook his head.

"None at all." She beamed, linking her free hand with his. He didn't let her go, but didn't really hold on either. Her smile faltered slightly so he linked his fingers through hers and it came back.

"Then yes, it is." She stated, "Thank you, it's very kind of you." She paused slightly, "Strangely kind, actually. What are you up to?"

"I just wanted to thank you for coming to Paris for me." He explained, "I know I didn't give you much of a choice, but you didn't complain about it." She shrugged, swinging her shoes happily at her side.

"I know how demanding you are." She retorted, "I can handle random trips to Paris. It's really not that much of a hardship." She glanced out of the corner of her eye at him, frowning in concern, "When's the last time you got some sleep?" she asked suddenly. He shrugged and she rolled her eyes, "Right, back to the hotel. You need to get some rest. I'm not having a cranky Sherlock Holmes on my hands. John'll never forgive me if I bring you back in that state." Oh yes, John.

"The hotel has a bar." He stated out of nowhere, "I was going to take you there." She didn't let go of his hand until they reached the street, flagging down a vacant taxi. Sherlock told him the address, she really should brush up on her French, and they were off.

"I can go on my own." She reassured him, "Get some sleep, and you can make it up to me when we get back home. You can help me dye my hair again."

"You want to change it again?" he asked, surprised and she nodded, twisting a strand around her finger to look at it.

"I think so." She replied, "What do you think?"

"I think you look fine just the way you are." He remarked, "Dying your hair isn't going to solve whatever it is in your head that;s making you want to change." He watched her face fall sadly and he straightened slightly, that was not how his experiment was supposed to go, "But if it is what will make you happy, then I'd be happy to help." Ah, there was the smile again. Good. He was going to have to keep it there.

_~0~0~0~_

He stepped into the hotel bar, eyes immediately finding her as he scanned across the holiday goers. She was on the dance floor, glass in hand as she danced in a group of men and women, all from Britain if he'd concluded correctly. She could really blend in when she wanted to. She was sandwiched between two men, laughing happily as she danced along to the music blaring across the music system. One man reached out to pull her against him, but even though she batted him away she didn't leave the group. He wove between the other drunk people, slinking up behind her and wrapping an arm around her waist. He felt her jump and she spun, obviously surprised to see him there before grinning madly, it reaching her eyes. He frowned in confusion as the song ended, even just appearing seemed to make her that bit brighter. She'd seemed content from the other side of the room, but seeing her trying to coax him into dancing with her just highlighted how much she wasn't.

_Lisa likes brandy and the way it hits her lips  
She's a rock 'n' roll survivor with pendulum hips  
She's got deep brown eyes  
That've seen it all_

He wanted to see how far it went. He slowly moved with her to the song, reaching down and pulling her up firmly against him like the other man had tried to do. She didn't bat him away, rather reached out and laced her fingers with his as she sung along with the song. As the song progressed, she seemed to realise that he hadn't let her go. She bit her bottom lip as her gaze never left his and he searched hers, trying to work out how to make her smile again.

_On my last night on earth, I won't look to the sky  
Just breathe in the air and blink in the light_

He moved his grip on her hand, twisting his long fingers until they wrapped around her wrist, pressing two against the artery there. He watched her as her breath seemed to catch in her throat, realising what he was doing and he let go of her waist to tilt her head up. He'd been keeping a close watch on her pupils and her pulse increased each time they brushed against each other. Her hand timidly grabbed his other wrist, doing the same and she swallowed deeply, turning from watching her fingers to look back at him. He laced his fingers with hers on one hand, wrapped his arm back around her waist and leant down, brushing his lips against hers briefly. She followed him as he straightened up, standing onto the tip of her toes and kissing him back, her lips tentatively moving against his own. He felt the corners of her lips tug upwards into a smile as he responded, so he brushed his tongue against her bottom lip and his hands moved to cup her face.

_L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N.  
What you don't have now will come back again  
You've got heart and you go in your own way_


	26. Work Time

_128 reviews? Wha... I don't even know what to say to that! Thank you so, so much! *throws confetti* Wahoo!_

_~0~0~0~_

Surrounded by piles of clothes, Faye was sat on the floor when John opened the door to her flat. She looked up expectedly and he frowned and she shook her head, turning back to the pile.

"Hey." She shot him before chucking a blouse over her shoulder onto the sofa, "Sorry I've not been up. Busy and things, you know?" She held up another blouse and did the same, it landing on the increasingly growing pile behind her.

"Yeah, I was wondering where you were." He replied. Sherlock had returned from Paris and had headed straight for his bedroom, not paying John any attention and still had barely said a word to him. He'd also expected Faye to come rant at him for Sherlock's behaviour, he knew how difficult it was being in such confined spaces with just him for company, but she hadn't turned up.

"I was going to come see you when we got back, but then I cleaned my cupboards. You'd be surprised how dirty they can get." She explained, "So, after I went through the kitchen and living room I was going to come up today, but I was getting dressed and I realised that I didn't like any of my clothing, so I thought I would go through it all." He glanced around, it did seem very tidy. Except for the mass of mugs on the kitchen counter.

"How much coffee have you drunk?" He asked her and she shrugged.

"I dunno. It's all been a bit of a blur." She replied, "I think I'll go through the mugs next, actually. I seem to have gained..." He sat on the pile of clothing in front of her, "John, what are you doing?"

"What did he do?" He asked her and she frowned, startled for a moment.

"What did who do?" She asked in reply and he sighed.

"Sherlock." He clarified in exasperation, "He did something in Paris, didn't he?" His eyes widened slightly, "Does he work it out? Is that why he's hiding in his room, because he knows you're Mary?" She shook her head.

"No, it's not that." She took a deep breath, "He kissed me." John's jaw dropped.

"Sherlock?" She nodded and he pointed upwards, "Sherlock Holmes? The man upstairs?" She nodded.

"Yes. And then he just walked off!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands in the hair, "I mean, what the fuck?!"

"Are you sure he meant to kiss you?" He asked and her eyes narrowed.

"I was pretty bloody sure when his tongue brushed against my lips." She snapped, "But why? What was he doing? I've been trying to work it out, but I can't! What possible advantage does he get from kissing me then walking off?!" She ran both her hands through her hair, grasping at the back for a moment, "And then..." She growled slightly, "And then he just climbs into bed with me, all touchy-feely..."

"Woah, woah, woah!" John exclaimed quickly, "I do not need to know the end of that sentence." She glared at him.

"Contrary to popular belief, I've not shagged either of you." She snapped, "He just sorta _hugged_ me, then told me to stop tossing and turning and fell asleep."

"Yes, okay." John said after a moment's pause, "I can see how that would throw you."

"Thank you!" She exclaimed, "Seriously though, what the hell was going on?"

"Do you want me to find out?" She shook her head.

"No, if he'd wanted you to know he'd have told you." She replied, "He doesn't exactly keep opinions to himself, does he?" John nodded in agreement, "He was probably drunk or something. We were in the hotel bar, after all. And the next morning, he just acted like nothing happened." She nodded to herself, "Yeah, that must be it. I mean, it's _Sherlock Holmes_." John pulled her into a sympathetic hug and she clung to him tightly.

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock stopped the DVD as the credits rolled, looking to the pile of movies next to him. He'd dragged the television into his room the previous morning. On the wall to his right were scraps of paper, seemingly placed there at random but each holding little pieces of information he could remember. It was his search for Mary, and it wasn't getting very far, much to his annoyance. The only way it was going to be possible for him to move forward was if he did the unthinkable and contacted Mycroft. Which he still wasn't willing to do, so he had moved onto his next personal experiment – Faye. The knowledge that she was sexually attracted to him was not news to him, but the fact that he made her smile was. So, he'd decided to research that by watching one of his most loathed genres of entertainment; the romantic comedy. He'd dismissed period pieces as a matter of course, they were in the here and now and nothing from the 1800's was going to be of any help. The same with futuristic settings, all useless as they were guesswork at best. He'd just watched Love Actually, pile of sentimental nonsense but he'd noted down smile rates and settings, just like he'd done with the rest.

He'd needed a controlled sample of behaviour to compare the night in Paris to, so he'd acted normally all the way back from Paris, seeing how she would react to him under more typical circumstances. Again, she had smiled more when they were interacting. So, he needed to narrow it down further, what was it that was making her smile? That was what the films were for. Books were no good, he'd discovered that, because facial expressions were rarely described unless of significant note. So he'd sat through a dozen or so movies, all filled with the same drivel and sentimental garbage, hoping to work out what it was that made women smile like that.

He outright refused to even consider the notion it was because he wanted to find out what it was that made Faye smile, just so he could replicate the variables himself.

_~0~0~0~_

John took the drink from Faye, still laughing at the story the woman in front of him was telling them.

"Dial it down a bit." She muttered into his ear as she moved over to the next customer, pulling him a couple of bottles of beer out of the chiller and opening them up before handing them to him with a cheeky smile. John was getting pretty cosy with Simone, one of the regulars at the bar who had just been dumped by her long-term boyfriend, which was good considering somehow he'd managed to lose Karen somewhere along the way. He'd told her he was just coming for a drink, he was going to stay away from relationships and things for now, but Simone placed her hand on his arm and she knew that wasn't happening.

"Fancy seeing you here!" She turned and stared in surprise as Richard Brook leaning against the bar, smiling brightly at her. She shot him a surprised smile.

"Well, I work here." She replied, "I suppose it's more of a surprise to see you here." He ordered a drink and she quickly got him it, "I'm sorry I didn't call you. I was going to but, I sorta got taken to Paris..." She trailed off, realising how that sounded. She blushed, embarrased by how quickly she had actually forgotten to call him after she'd returned with Sherlock.

"Does that happen often?" He asked and she nodded.

"More than it probably should." They both laughed together and he leant up on the bar, getting nearer as she continued to serve other people.

"When do you get off?" He asked and she shot him an apologetic look.

"Still got a boyfriend!" She lied, although the feel of Sherlock's hands cupping her face gently sprung immediately to mind and he actually looked put out.

"Is he an actor?" he tried and she giggled, shaking her head.

"No, he is not." She conceded. He nodded across the bar.

"Well, I hope for your sake it's not him." She glanced over to see John finishing off a kiss with Simone and she laughed.

"No, that's just my friend!" She called over the music, "He comes to work with me sometimes and I find him hot chicks to hook up with."

"I wish I had a friend like you." He teased and she pulled her tongue out at him as Freddie, another bar worker, tapped her on the shoulder.

"We're out of orange!" He called and she nodded, turning to Richard.

"That's my cue. I'll see you around!" He picked up his drink, using it to salute her before blending back into the crowd and she went back to her job.

Across the room, Sherlock scowled as the black-haired stranger walked away from obviously chatting Faye up. That wouldn't do, she was smiling then too. He'd have to put a stop to that.

Not that it mattered, as a couple of days later they were off to Devon.


	27. The Hound

_A bit of a rehash of the episode, regrettable but unavoidable I'm afraid. Tried to change it a bit to show Sherlock actively involving Faye more in his life._

_Brownies for the people who got my little Martin Freeman reference last chapter :) I like to think they both exist in the Lockverse and people keep comparing John to Martin and him continuously denying it XD_

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock stood on top of a giant stone outcrop in the middle of Dartmoor, his coat blowing around him in the very biting breeze as John and Faye stood at the base, John holding a map as he helped Sherlock get his bearings for the landmarks in question. Faye pulled her coat around her, visibly shaking as she looked out towards the famous Baskerville base.

"What's that?" Sherlock called down, pointing out towards the left of the base. John tried to see what he was pointing out, but unable to get a good view lifted his binoculars to his eyes.

"Minefield?" He suggested, shouting back up to be heard over the wind. Faye squinted as she tried to see what the pair were looking at before sighing, walking over to the outcrop and climbing her way up it, "Technically Baskerville's an army base, so I guess they've always been keen to keep people out." He reasoned and Sherlock nodded.

"Clearly." Faye stood next to him, finally seeing the tiniest glimpse of the skull signs scattering the land. They stood in silence, Sherlock analysing everything he could see before turning to her with a scowl.

"Will you stop that?" He snapped.

"What?" She exclaimed.

"Shivering. It's really distracting."

"Oh I'm sorry!" She replied sarcastically, "I didn't bring a big bloody coat like you. I wasn't expecting to be stood in the middle of a moor today, I had other plans."

"No you didn't." He corrected instantly.

"Yes I did." She insisted, "I was going to ring Richard up, ask if he was still up for dinner."

"You've left it too long, he's probably got another date." Sherlock told her and she shook her head.

"Not true. He's been at the bar the last three nights to see me."

"Then he's pretty desperate, isn't he?" Sherlock practically shouted in reply, startling her with his anger as he turned away from her. John looked up, also catching Sherlock's angry tone even if he didn't quite hear what he had said. Faye caught his eye, shrugging in reply to his, what she correctly assumed, questioning look before turning back to look at the landscape. It was pretty stunning. The sun was breaking through the cloud cover, highlighting parts of the green land in golden beams of sunlight. It stretched off in all directions, seemingly going on forever and it really felt as if they were the only three people for miles. It was quite calming really. In a sort of stranded freezing her arse off sort of way.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again as she pulled her jacket tighter around herself yet again, shivering incessantly next to him. Didn't she understand he had other things to think about other than the impractical state of dress she was in? He sighed, shrugging out of his jacket and placing it over her shoulders.

"There." He told her, "Warm up a bit." She smiled and he nodded in approval of the tug of the sides of her mouth. There was that smile again.

"Thank you." She said, gratefully wrapping herself up in it, savouring the residul body heat it was emitting. John shook his head as he turned back to his map. Neither of them could see it, could they?

"I'll be wanting it back." Sherlock's voice floated down and he laughed at his friend's lack of tact.

_~0~0~0~_

The man behind the bar, Gary he'd told them with a friendly grin, handed John two sets of keys.

"I've only got two singles left, I'm afraid." He told him, "Sorry I couldn't get you two a double."

"That's fine. W-We're not..." He stuttered, looking at Faye for help. She shrugged, sipping on her orange juice innocently.

"You and Sherlock will just have to share a single." She retorted before turning to Gary, "I've seen them cuddle on a sofa, it'll be fine." Gary nodded knowingly and John shook his head insistently.

"We're not a couple." Gary looked at Faye for confirmation, but she shot him an exaggerated wink that just increased his disbelief. John gave up, handing the man his money for his drink and Faye wandered off, having spotted Sherlock leaving the pub. She skipped up to his side as he turned to an discarded drink and picked it up.

"You've seen something." She whispered and he nodded, eyeing a young man across the yard with a big A-board for the 'Hound' walks.

"Follow my lead." He murmured, walking over and smiling at the man, "Mind if we join you?" The man shrugged and he motioned for Faye to sit first. He then took her hand in his, leaning in closer, giving the air of a couple.

"I don't think he has anything." He muttered and she saw the man start to listen.

"Of course he does." She insisted in the same low tone, "He wouldn't say he did if he didn't." He rolled his eyes, "Just ask him." He nodded, turning to the man who jumped at being caught listening in.

"It's not true, is it? You haven't actually seen this ... hound thing." Sherlock asked, smiling friendlily whilst giving off the air of disbelief. The man took him in suspiciously then, after glancing at Faye, shrugged non-committally.

"Maybe." He settled on.

"Got any proof?" Sherlock pressed.

"Why would I show you if I did?" The man asked distrustfully. Faye turned to Sherlock, nudging him.

"Be nice." She scolded before smiling brightly at him, "He's just skeptical, but I believe you. He wants to prove me wrong."

"I bet Faye here a night out of her choosing if you could prove you'd seen the hound.." Sherlock shrugged, "Nevermind, saves me the money. We'll just have to go with plan B." He checked his watch, "My plan needs darkness." He glanced up, "Reckon we've got another half an hour of light..."

"Bet?" The man asked, seeming more interested in them now. Faye didn't know what Sherlock did to change his mind suddenly. John approached them with his own drink.

"He won't show us the proof." Faye explained, "Sherlock scared him."

"Proof?" John asked, confused as he sat on her other side.

"He can't prove that he's seen the hound. We'll have to find some other form of entertainment." John nodded, catching on.

"But the guys in the pub said you could." John pointed out and Faye shrugged.

"Leave the poor man along." She told them, "He doesn't have to prove anything to us just because we've got a bet on." The man looked at Faye and she smiled at him again, trying to make him feel at ease. He nodded and pointed at Sherlock.

"Well, you're gonna lose your money, mate." He told the other man and Sherlock shook his head, still not believing him.

"Yeah?" The man nodded, wanting to make him cough up for what he guessed was his girlfriend.

"Yeah. I've seen it. Only about a month ago, up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind – couldn't make much out." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I see. No witnesses, I suppose." Sherlock pointed out.

"No, but..." He tried, rummaging through his pockets for his phone. He'd show him proof.

"Never are." He interrupted with a sigh.

"Wait..." He held up the phone with a picture of what appeared to be a large blurry dog in a field, "There." Sherlock scanned it quickly then snorted.

"Is that it? It's not exactly proof, is it?" He mocked.

"That's obviously a hound." Faye defended but Sherlock shook his head as John turned the phone so he could also see it.

"Nope, Sorry, Faye. I win." He lifted the drink he picked up, pretending to take a swig in his victory and Faye tried to mask her disgust. That was someone else's drink. Gross.

"Wait, wait. That's not all. People don't like going up there, you know – to the Hollow. Gives them a ... bad sort of feeling." The man added, trying to prove his case.

"Ooh! Is it haunted?" Sherlock taunted sarcastically, "Is that supposed to convince me?" He placed the pint glass down and took Faye's hand back in his.

"Nah, don't be stupid, nothing like that, but I reckon there _is_ something out there – something from Baskerville, escaped." He defended with conviction, even though he sounded unsure of himself.

"A clone, a super-dog?" Sherlock laughed in derision as Faye and John watched on. John liked to watch him work, Sherlock knew that, but he was rather enjoying Faye looking impressed with him.

"Maybe." The man shrugged, "God knows what they've been spraying on us all these years, or putting in the water. I wouldn't trust 'em as far as I could spit."

"Is that the best you've got?" Sherlock challenged, knowing he had something he was hiding from them. The man glanced around before deciding to go with it.

"I had a mate once who worked for the MOD." He told them quietly, leaning closer, "One weekend we were meant to go fishin' but he never showed up – well, not 'til late. When he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. 'I've seen things today, Fletch,' he said, 'that I never wanna see again. _Terrible_ things.' He'd been sent to some secret Army place – Porton Down, maybe, maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else." He grabbed his backpack, unzipping it and reaching inside, "In the labs there – the really _secret_ labs, he said he'd seen ... terrible things. Rats as big as dogs, he said, and dogs. Dogs the size of horses." He pulled out a lump of concrete with a large paw print visible on it. Sherlock reached out, actually surprised there was physical evidence. He'd been expecting something like paperwork, not _that_. Faye turned to him as he let it go and Fletch placed it back in his bag.

"A night out wherever I want?" She asked with a smirk and Sherlock stood up in a sulk, pulling her with him as he dragged her to the Land Rover they were borrowing whilst they were in Devon, "You know, I'm holding you to that." He eyed her for a moment.

"I know." He grumbled.


	28. Arguments

_I realised that if I want to do Reichenbach the way I want to, I was going to have to speed things up a bit. So, this is me, speeding it up XD_

_~0~0~0~_

Faye stretched, standing off the bed with a yawn and heading to the door. Sherlock and John had headed out with that Henry bloke into Dewer's Hollow to investigate the hound further. She'd opted to stay behind and watch television, if they wanted to go out into the wilderness looking for some escaped genetic mutant from Baskerville that was their prerogative. She had soaps to catch up on. There was another knock on the door, more incessant this time and she opened it to find Sherlock stood there, shaking slightly, looking absolutely terrified.

"Jesus!" She exclaimed, grabbing his arm and pulling him into her room, heading over to the bed and sitting him down. She pulled him in for a hug and he clung to her like a scared child, "It's okay." She reassured, rubbing his back slightly and glancing at the door. No one followed so she let him go, struggling to catch his eye, "Sherlock, what happened?" He didn't reply, "Is it John? Is he okay?" She tried and he nodded into her shoulder, swallowing to try and calm himself down. He let her go, straightening up and looking slightly more like his normal self but she could tell something had shaken him up.

"I..." He took a deep breath, "How can I believe anything I see, if I see the unbelievable?" She frowned, shaking her head slightly.

"I don't understand." She told him honestly, "But it can't have been that bad."

"I saw it." He told her, "The hound, I saw it." Her eyes widened slightly at his admission.

"You mean it's real?" She asked, amazed.

"Of course it's not." He snapped, "So why did I see it?" She shrugged slightly before smiling softly at him.

"We'll work it out." She promised, "Well, I say 'we', I mean you. John can barely keep up with that brain of yours, I sure as hell can't. There will be a rational explanation and you'll rub it in our faces as if it was really obvious. That's how it's always been, hasn't it?"

"I don't know." He snarled, "I can't be sure of anything anymore." She rolled her eyes.

"Oh Sherlock, don't be such a drama queen." She scolded and he glared down at her.

"I saw something that does not exist!" He exclaimed.

"So?" She challenged, "It doesn't mean anything! People see stuff all the time that isn't really there, it doesn't mean anything!" He shot off the bed, pacing agitatedly in front of her.

"Yes it does!" He retorted, "How can I be sure anything I've seen exists? What is real and what isn't? My senses are my skill, but what if they're wrong?" She stood up, calming herself down slightly. He was just scared, she couldn't shout at him, she had to help calm him down. She reached out, stilling his pacing.

"You can't doubt yourself like that." She insisted calmly, "You've never been wrong before, have you?" She laughed slightly, motioning out the window, "I mean, you knew all about Richard just from a hastily written phone number. John's told me about when he met you, and then there was poor Henry, who you terrified by knowing his whole morning when he came to your flat. You're brilliant, Sherlock. Don't let this one thing take that from you."

"I was wrong about Adler." He pointed out and she shook her head.

"No you weren't. You just weren't looking for that answer. You don't think about those sort of things, so it never crossed your mind. Now you know different, so it won't be an issue again."

"I didn't notice your smile until it was pointed out to me." He agreed, "Now it's all I notice." He looked pensive, "Maybe something altered my perception, I was looking for the evidence of something representing the hound."

"Hang on," Faye interrupted, pulling his attention back to her, "My smile?" He blinked at her, surprised at his own error.

"Yes, well." He cleared his throat, "You have this smile, it's like your normal smile but it's... bigger when you're interacting with me. It was pointed out to me in France." She nodded slowly, her brain making the connection to their trip to Paris.

"That's why you kissed me, wasn't it?" She asked lowly, "To see if you could make me smile."

"I wanted to see under what circumstances it could be replicated." He explained. Her eyes darted around the room, a thousand different thoughts flying through her brain all at once.

"Get out." She commanded flatly and he frowned in confusion.

"I'm sorry?" He asked and she pointed to the door.

"Get out." She repeated, "You are lucky I am only violent to myself, because I could swing for you right now."

"You're upset." He noticed and she looked at him, furious and incredulous.

"Of course I'm bloody upset!" She shouted, "How dare you play with me like that?!" She shoved him, causing him to stumble slightly at the unexpected physical contact, "Get out, Sherlock!" She was panting hard, her face red from the tears she was forcing back. Sherlock quickly realised his error and reached for her but she batted his hand away, "I'm not a bloody experiment! I thought we were friends, but now..." She shook her head, "That was cruel, even for you. Get out of my room." Not knowing what else to do, Sherlock held his hands up in defeat and stepped back into the hallway. The door slammed shut behind him and Faye headed back to the bed, climbing under the covers and silently started crying. He turned to stare at the old wood, looking down the hallway before throwing the door open again and storming inside.

"You're bloody moronic." He scolded and she sat up, glaring at him.

"I'm sorry?" She snapped, "Are you actually insulting me right now?"

"You've said it yourself, and you still can't see what's in front of you." He ranted, "Why can no one see it but me? The world can not be that hard to work out!" She stood up, walking over.

"Oh go on then." She snapped, "Tell me what I can't see and the great Sherlock Holmes has worked out. Why am I so bloody moronic?"

"On the way to France you said I never notice anything unless I'm looking for it." He recalled, "I have been looking for ways to make you smile. I gave you my coat for God's sake!" He tugged at his lapel for emphasis, "It's because I want to make you smile!" She just looked confused and he growled in frustration, "Jesus Christ!" He grabbed her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against him, slamming his lips onto hers. The kiss was angry, the pair battling each other, trying to get closer than they physically could. Her hands made quick work of his coat, the offending item falling to the floor as he fisted her hair, backing her up to the bed where they fell.


	29. Experiments

_Bit more of the episode. Coming up next will be protective Sherlock, but not til tomorrow. Hope this is okay until then XD_

_~0~0~0~_

Lestrade had turned up to check on them, orders from Mycroft even though he'd continued to deny it. He had turned out be of use, though, because when John and Sherlock had fallen out the night before – apparently, Sherlock had failed to tell Faye this – John had been doing some digging on the local vegetarian restaurant. One scary Scotland Yard DI later, and they'd found out there had been a large dog on the moors but it had been put down.

"Well, hopefully there's no harm done. Not quite sure what I'd charge him with anyway." Lestrade admitted, hands in his jeans pockets as they headed out into the car park outside, "I'll have a word with the local Force." He nodded at them, "Right, that's that, then. Catch you later." He shot them all a smile as he walked backwards away from them, "I'm enjoying this! It's nice to get London out of your lungs!" He headed off and John turned to Sherlock.

"So that was their dog that people saw out on the moor?" Sherlock nodded thoughtful.

"Looks like it." He replied, although he didn't seem to convinced.

"But that wasn't what _you_ saw. That wasn't just an ordinary dog." John pointed out.

"No." Sherlock agreed, his gaze becoming distant as he conjured up the image of what he saw the night before, "It was immense, had burning red eyes and it was glowing, John. Its whole body was glowing." He shook himself, getting rid of the memory and he started walking towards their Jeep. Faye shot John a look before the pair followed him, "I've got a theory but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it." Sherlock continued, pulling out his phone and typing on it.

"How? Can't pull off the ID trick again." John asked and Sherlock shot him a smirk.

"Might not have to." He handed Faye the phone and she held it to her ear.

"_Sherlock, what a pleasant surprise._" Mycroft's voice drawled on the other side of the line.

"Nope, just me!" She replied happily.

"_Why do you have Sherlock's phone?_" Mycroft asked, sounding slightly concerned.

"Oh, I'm in Devon too." She explained, "We need to get into Baskerville again."

"_You want me to get you access to a high-security __military__ base that you have already broken into?_" He asked and she pouted.

"Please Mycroft." She begged, "It's just for a day." She caught Sherlock shaking his head and he mouthed something to her, "It's just for 24 hours." She corrected, "Please."

"_You're pouting again._" He scolded her, "_It is completely out of the question._"

"Oh, come on Mycroft. There's a huge genetic monster roaming the moors of Devon and I _really_ want to know why." She moaned.

"_What colour eyes have you got today?_" He asked.

"Brown." She replied instantly.

"_Faye, I can tell when you are lying to me._" He pointed out and she growled slightly.

"They're brown, Mycroft!" She protested angrily, pausing for a moment before holding the phone to Sherlock, "He wants to talk to you." Sherlock took the phone off her.

"Hello, brother dear." He greeted sarcastically, "Her eyes are brown today, I can assure you." He listened for a moment before hanging up. Faye and John looked at him expectantly and he grinned, "To Baskerville." Faye beamed back and John looked between them, confused.

"Wait, what just happened?" He asked as he climbed into the passenger seat of their car. Faye slipped into the back, pulling her seatbelt on.

"Oh, Mycroft determines my state of mind by what colour eyes I have." She explained.

"What does brown mean?" He asked.

"He thinks I'm incredibly unstable and likely to break at any moment." She replied, "So he's given in to keep me happy." John turned in his seat, looking at her worriedly.

"Should you be coming with us if you feel like that?"

"That assumption is based on her wearing brown contacts." Sherlock interrupted, "Which she is not. The brown of her eyes today is her natural colour, and if she can tolerate having it on the surface she must be in a good state of mind." Faye nodded.

"Yeah, what he said." John studied her, suspicious for a moment before shrugging, turning back to look out of the windscreen.

"Okay, whatever you say."

_~0~0~0~_

John split off from Sherlock and Faye when they made their way into the main base, heading for the labs to search for anything resembling what Sherlock had seen in the Hollow. They were escorted to Major Barrymore's office where, after a rather sarcastic confrontation, they were allowed full and unsupervised access to the CCTV hub. He held the door open for her and she stepped into the clinically white room, one side lined with the screens depicting every camera, and another with a computer terminal for more focused viewing. Sherlock stepped in after her, after checking the hallway was clear and he reached out, grabbing her and crushing her between the wall and himself, a victorious smirk on his face as he leant down and placed his lips against hers. After getting over the initial shock of the attack, she struggled away from the kiss.

"Sherlock!" She exclaimed with a laugh, "What are you doing?"

"John won't reach the lab for another four minutes." He reasoned with her, murmuring against her lips, "This seemed a reasonable way to pass the time." He kissed her again, his lips caressing hers and he felt her lips tug as she quickly responded, her tongue darting out to taste him before she leant back again.

"A way to pass the time?" She asked teasingly, "Is that all I am?" He nodded, his hand snaking down her back to squeeze through her jeans.

"A surprisingly satisfying one." He purred, his lips gliding over hers another time before letting her go. He walked over to the terminal, setting to whatever he had planned in his head as she caught her breath, her heart slowing down. She walked over and leant on the back of his chair, looking at the monitors, the lab John was in displayed across them.

"This seems really cruel." She pointed out, tucking her hands into her back pockets of her jeans.

"I need to confirm that the effects of the drug in the sugar are the same on every person who consumes it." He told her, "John will understand."

"You see," She replied with a grimace, "I don't think he will. You have to stop experimenting on your friends, Sherlock."

"Should I experiment on strangers?" He retorted, "They're not going to understand."

"How about just not experimenting on anyone?" She suggested.

"No, sorry." He dismissed, "That's completely out of the question."

"Why?" He held a recording device to the microphone for the intercom system, pressing play on and a growling noise began playing. John rushed around on the screen, eventually taking refuge in an abandoned cage. Sherlock stopped the recording and turned in his chair to face her.

"Because last night wouldn't have happened," He explained, "and it's going to happen again and again." He held the phone up to his ear, smirking cockily as John answered, terrified, "Where are you?"

_~0~0~0~_

It wasn't in the sugar, which had frustrated Sherlock to no end. He'd made John and Dr Stapleton leave the lab he'd taken them to, but had 'allowed' Faye to stay while he entered his Mind Palace. When she'd been Mary, she remembered him using a similar technique, but it hadn't been a palace, just a general house he used. His internal real estate had grown since then, evidently. It wasn't until he emerged from it with a triumphant grin that she realised she was only there to inflate his ego, because she could only guess how mesmerised she must have looked. He'd been so proud of himself, strutting out and barely paying attention to any of them as he took them to Major Barrymore's office. Until they'd found the information on Project H.O.U.N.D. where he became as disgusted as the rest of them, even if he was more in control than to show it. Faye couldn't look at the pictures of the victims involved in the testing, turning away with a suppressed sob as John rubbed her back in comfort, although he wasn't too great himself. Sherlock's eyes darted across all the information, absorbing everything and anything of use. John's phone rang, alerting them to the increasingly erratic behaviour of Henry, the man who'd brought them all there.

"There's only one place he'll go to: back to where it all started." Sherlock told them, calling up someone himself, "Lestrade. Get to the Hollow. ... Dewer's Hollow, now. And bring a gun."


	30. The Hollow

_It occurred to me today, as I edited this chapter yet again, that whilst I might be quite good at re-writing Doctor Who episodes (in my opinion anyway), I write better original Sherlock stuff. So, I gave up. Here's the end of Hounds, more original stuff tomorrow :)_

_~0~0~0~_

Faye really struggled to keep up with the two men as they rushed through the wooded area, towards the clearing. It didn't seem to matter that Sherlock was the same age, or even that John was four years older than them, their long strides and her lifestyle made Sherlock grab her hand and practically drag her behind them. She gasped in shock as they saw Henry crouch down, bringing a pistol to his mouth as he prepared to shoot himself.

"No, Henry, no! No!" Sherlock shouted as he and John scrambled down the slope, Faye tripping and sliding down on her backside. She pushed herself up, slightly embarrassed despite the tense situation, brushing herself down as Henry stumbled away from them, waving the gun at them as he shook in his hysteria.

"Get back. Get – get away from me!" He sobbed.

"Easy, Henry. Easy. Just relax." John tried but Henry shook his head.

"I know what I am. I know what I tried to do!" He screamed and John held his hand out, trying to encourage him to calm down.

"Just put the gun down. It's okay." He reassured.

"No, no, I know what I am!" He pointed the gun straight at the trio and Faye stepped back, her eyes trained on it. She wasn't like Sherlock or John, she hadn't come into regular contact with any weapons and she was actually rather scared of it. She bumped into Sherlock's arm as John shot her a reassuring look.

"Yes, I'm sure you do, Henry." Sherlock replied calmly, stepping in front of her and John as he continued to point his torch at the poor man, "It's all been explained to you, hasn't it – explained _very_ carefully."

"What?" Henry asked, his confusion momentarily calming him.

"Someone needed to keep you quiet; needed to keep you as a child to reassert the dream that you'd both clung on to, because you had started to remember." He took another step towards him, stilling at Faye's small yelp, telling him she really wanted him to stay away, "Remember now, Henry. You've _got_ to remember what happened here when you were a little boy." Henry's eyes darted around, memories popping into his head that didn't make any sense to him, altering what he thought he remembered at too fast a pace for him to comprehend.

"I thought it had got my dad – the hound. I thought ..." He growled then screamed, "Oh Je... oh Jesus, I don't – _I don't know any more!" _He sobbed, placing the gun into his mouth again.

"No, Henry! Henry, for God's sake!" John exclaimed, lurching forward towards him.

"John!" Faye cried, grabbing his arm and stilling him with her grip. She knew he was trying to help, the man had a bigger heart than anyone she knew. She just didn't trust the hysterical young man in front of them to not shoot at them if any of the made a sudden movement.

"Henry, remember. 'Liberty In.' Two words; two words a frightened little boy saw here twenty years ago." Sherlock explained urgently, "You'd started to piece things together, remember what _really_ happened here that night. It wasn't an animal, was it, Henry? Not a monster. A _man._" Henry stood up straight, his mind flashing with the images of a man beating his father. A man with a gas mask on, with two red eye pieces that glowed in the dark light of the forest, "You couldn't cope. You were just a child, so you rationalised it into something very different. But then you started to remember, so you had to be stopped; driven out of your mind so that no-one would believe a word that you said." Henry gaped, the truth of what had happened that night causing the gun to hang loosely by his side. Faye's grip loosened, sensing the threat was now gone and John stepped quietly and slowly towards him.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade came down the slope towards them, gun and torch in hand.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you, Greg." Faye whispered, startling him slightly.

"Really?" He asked in disbelief and she nodded. John took the gun off Henry, reassuring him all the time.

"I've never realised how grateful I am that there's people like you to do this for people like me." She whispered in reply and he chuckled slightly, patting her on the arm.

"But we saw it: the hound, last night. We s... we, we, we _did_, we saw ..." Henry insisted and Sherlock nodded.

"Yeah, but there _was_ a dog, Henry, leaving footprints, scaring witnesses, but it was nothing more than an ordinary dog. We both saw it – saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. Fear and stimulus; that's how it works. But there never was any monster." And then, just to contradict him, the loud howl of the hound rang through the woods. They all looked up at the ridge above the Hollow where a dark shadow of a hound stalked the outside, snarling and snapping at them. John and Lestrade tried to shine their torches on the figure.

"Sherlock ..." Faye whimpered. What was that? Sherlock had said there was no hound. There had to be no hound. Sherlock stared at it in disbelief but, at hearing her whimper, reached behind him and took her hand in his.

"No. No, no, no, no!" Henry screamed in panic, scrambling away from the creature.

"Henry, Henry ..." Sherlock tried to calm him down but he fell to his knees, clutching his head in his hands as he hysterically continued to scream 'no'.

"Henry!" John called to the man, not really knowing what to do as the hound turned towards them, it's eyes glowing ominously in the torchlight.

"Shit!" Lestrade whispered and John turned, shining his torch on him.

"Greg, are you seeing this?" Lestrade shot him a look that answered the question and he looked at Faye, "Faye?" She nodded her head as she clung to Sherlock's hand, staring at the creature, absolutely terrified. So, they both could see it too.

"Right: they are not drugged, Sherlock, so what's that? _What is it?!_" John demanded. Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down before staring back up at the hound, which hadn't disappeared. If it was still there, it was real and not an hallucination.

"All right! It's still here!" He exclaimed, panting slightly, "But it's just a dog. Henry! It's nothing more than an ordinary dog!" The hound howled.

"Oh my _God_." Lestrade breathed and the hound jumped down, landing halfway up the slope as it snarled at them, "Oh, Christ!"

"What do we do?" Faye asked, "Sherlock, what do we do?" He glanced behind him, seeing her staring at him, very scared and pleading for him to think of something. His head then snapped around at the sound of movement behind him. There was a figure slowly approaching them and he rushed towards it, dragging Faye with him only to let her go to rip the gas mask off their face. Jim Moriarty grinned manically back at him and Sherlock took a step back.

"No!" He exclaimed in horror.

"Mary..." Faye breathed, the sight of her younger self smiling back, looking more deformed than ever on the top of the ground man's shoulders, "No, no stay away from me!" she screamed as Sherlock tried to get the ever-changing image of Jim's face out of his head.

"It's not you! _You're not here!_" He shouted. The figure reached out, seemingly towards Faye who screamed again, falling to the floor to get away from the grasp of the face that haunted her. Sherlock reached over, his only thought to get Moriarty away from her, and grabbed the front of the figure's coat, fighting him away before head butting him hard. The man doubled over in pain, but shocked Sherlock by straightening up as Bob Frankland, the man behind the continuation of Project HOUND. He panted frantically, before looking around, first seeing Faye on the floor, then barely seeing John across from them. The fog... He let go of Frankland, helping Faye up. She continued muttering to herself as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

"It's the fog!" Sherlock exclaimed, helping Faye out of the main concentration of the white mist, "The drug: it's in the fog! Aerosol dispersal – that's what it said in those records. Project HOUND – it's the fog! A chemical minefield!" Lestrade immediately covered his face with his arm to stop himself breathing too much in, keeping the other pointing the gun at the hound. It snarled at them again.

"For God's sake, kill it! Kill it!" Frankland commanded and both John and Lestrade fired at it, the hound rearing up to attack but falling to the ground as it was hit by a bullet. Sherlock passed Faye to John, who held her to his side as he rushed over to Henry, dragging him over to the body.

"Look at it, Henry." He cried but Henry fought against him.

"No, no, no!"

"Come on, _look_ at it!" Sherlock snapped, shoving him forward until they both could see it. The hound was just a large black dog. Henry stared at it as Sherlock visibly relaxed, the fact there had been a logical conclusion to what had just occurred calming him and filling him with relief.

"Mary, make Mary go away." Faye muttered and John let her cling to him tighter.

"Sherlock, I think we need to get her some fresh air." He called over and Sherlock nodded, running a hand through his hair as his breathing slowly calmed down.

"It's just..." Henry stated, his voice high-pitched before he turned to face Frankland, "You bastard!" He screamed with rage, attacking the man and sending the pair tumbling to the ground, "You _bastard!_" He started beating the man, John and Greg running over to try and calm him down, "Twenty years! Twenty years of my life making no sense! Why didn't you just kill me?!"

"Because dead men get listened to. He needed to do more than kill you. He had to discredit every word you ever said about your father, and he had the means right at his feet – a chemical minefield, pressure pads in the ground dosing you up every time that you came back here." Sherlock explained, holding his arms out wide and spinning slowly in the Hollow, "Murder weapon and scene of the crime all at once." He laughed with delight, "Oh, this case, Henry! Thank you. It's been brilliant."

"Sherlock." John hissed in disbelief.

"What?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"_Timing._" He replied pointedly and Sherlock stared, confused.

"Not good?" John shook his head,

"No, no, it's – it's okay. It's fine, because this means," He stepped towards Frankland, calmer this time, "this means that my dad was _right._ He found something out, didn't he, and that's why you'd killed him – because he was _right_, and he'd found you right in the middle of an experiment." Frankland stood up off the floor, ready to defend himself when the dog snarled, whining in pain as they all turned towards it. Sherlock darted forward, grabbing Faye in case they needed to run but John shot it twice, sending it back to the floor as Frankland turned and bolted in the opposite direction.

"Shit!" Lestrade exclaimed and they all took chase, scrambling up the slope and out into the moorland behind the man.

"Frankland!" Sherlock cried as he caught sight of the man scrambling over a barbed wire fence, "It's no use, Frankland!" Frankland paused on the other side of the fence for just a moment before an explosion lit up the area around them, killing the man and sending them all back with the force of the heat. Henry fell against one of the trees, glaring at where Frankland had once stood whilst John and Greg panted from the running. Faye broke down in tears, although she wasn't sure if it was from seeing a man being blown up, or from seeing herself grinning back at her. It was most likely from the drug in the fog, but she didn't care. Lestrade shot John a surprised look, which he mirrored, as Sherlock pulled her in for a hug, shushing her as she sobbed into his chest.

_~0~0~0~_

On the train home John attempted to read his book, whilst Sherlock stared out of the window. Faye was asleep, her head leaning on Sherlock's shoulder and he had yet to shrug her off. John re-read the same sentence yet again before glancing over at Sherlock.

"So, you hugged Faye on the moor." He stated quietly. Sherlock shot him a dirty look before going back to the view outside.

"Yes." He retorted, "And?" John shrugged.

"Nothing." He replied, "Me and Greg were just surprised, that was all."

"Greg." Sherlock repeated with a scowl, "What kind of name is that?"

"It's his name." John explained, "Just because you've never remembered it, doesn't make it any less his name."

"Why would I remember it?" Sherlock pointed out, "He has always answered to whatever I have called him." John sighed.

"You're avoiding what I'm trying to say."

"No I am not." Sherlock snapped, "You are, as always, failing to say it." John rolled his eyes, going back to his book.

"If you want to act like a child, fine." He grumbled, "Just be careful, okay?" Sherlock didn't reply, he was barely paying attention to begin with. He watched the greenery outside flash by, his mind back in the Hollow the night before.

He had seen Moriarty. The fog had altered his perception, bringing out the one thing he could admit he was scared of.

So why had she seen Mary?


	31. The Morning Paper

_I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Bit of Mycroft, bit of John and Sherlock, it was a hoot!_

_~0~0~0~_

Faye took the cup of tea off Shaun, shooting him an apologetic smile. He was still in the dog-house, so to speak, after not bringing her to Mycroft when he was told to. He smiled weakly back but, fearful of Mycroft as all of his minions were, he left without saying a word. She pulled her feet up onto the sofa, taking a sip with a smile as Mycroft sat silently behind his desk, scribbling away on some paperwork.

"In case you are feeling particularly curious," Mycroft drawled, "I am trying to cover up the tracks of your little stunt in Baskerville." She rolled her eyes.

"It wasn't _my_ little stunt. Plus, it pulled up so seriously illegal chemical testing."

"You broke into a highly monitored military base." He pointed out and she shrugged.

"Oh that? It's not that big of a deal."

"Not that..." He shook his head, "What were you even thinking going there?"

"Sherlock invited me." Faye explained, "Was I just supposed to say no?"

"Yes, you were." Mycroft snapped, "You need to start thinking about your actions."

"I don't see the harm on going to Devon with Sherlock and John." She defended, "They're my friends, I thought you were encouraging this?"

"Sherlock came to see me yesterday." He replied, "Asking after Mary."

"What did you tell him?" She asked, balancing her mug on her lap.

"I told him what I told you. That you were severely unwell and your parents didn't want him finding you. Then I advised strongly not to go looking for them or you." She nodded slowly.

"I'm going to tell him." She declared and he stared, shocked.

"I'm sorry?" he asked quietly and she nodded.

"It's not fair on him." She explained, "I've been thinking about it a lot since Dartmoor, he deserves to know the truth and to move on from there." Mycroft placed his pen down and leant back in his chair, pointing his fingers in an arch as he looked her over for a moment.

"Oh Lord." He sighed, "You two had sex." She glared at him angrily.

"Stop it." She snapped, "You said you'd never deduce me like that." He just stared stoically back at her until she sighed, "It's not like I meant for it to happen. We were both angry, tensions were high. It just sort of... happened."

"And you're feeling guilty because he doesn't know the truth." He stated rather than asked and she nodded sadly.

"He doesn't want Mary, he wants Faye. He needs to know, so he can make his own, informed choice over whether or not he wants me or not."

"This is based on the assumption he wants you at all." Mycroft pointed out, "If tensions were high, it might have just been stress relief. You cannot make the mistake of associating emotions with my brother."

"One could say the same about you, Mycroft." She pointed out, standing up and walking over to his desk. She sat on the edge, smiling down at him, "But you've barely let me out of your sight since I was 15. You've always been there for me, and you can't say that's not you being emotional. Even now, you're worried about me talking to Sherlock because you don't want me to fall back to how I was."

"Which is what will happen if he rejects you." She shook her head.

"No, it won't." She promised, "I'm ready this time. It'll be bringing the rejection on myself, not just given to me unexpectedly." She leant down and placed a kiss on his cheek, "And no matter what, he couldn't keep me away from you." She stood up and skipped back to her sofa, sitting down and pulling her legs up again, "Where's my cake at?" Mycroft shook his head.

"In the shop, where it should be." He replied, "I'm getting a waistline that I cannot afford the time to work off."

"You look fantastic and you know it." She retorted, "I always get cake when I'm here."

"Well, you will just have to do without today." He replied patronisingly and she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Spoilsport."

_~0~0~0~_

Since they'd exposed the secret behind the Hound of Baskerville, there had been quite a lot of media attention on Sherlock and John. Not so much on Faye, but just enough to bring in the punters at the bar, curious people who wanted to see the woman in the background of the pictures and see if she could actually sing. John, who had just wanted a quiet drink and to give his support to his friend, had been pestered with the same questions about the case all evening.

"No, I can't say." He repeated to a group of 20-somethings, "It's classified information."

"But there was no giant dog?" A black-haired girl asked him and he shook his head.

"No, there wasn't." He confirmed.

"What made everyone see it then?" A sceptical young man asked.

"It was a drug dispersed in the Hollow." John repeated again, glancing up at Faye who was on stage. He suddenly wished he'd taken her up on the offer of doing a duet. If people saw how embarrassing he was, they might have left him alone.

"_Are you shopping anywhere, changed the colo__u__r of your hair, are you busy? And did you have to pay that fine, that you were dodging all the time, are you still dizzy?_" She sang, shooting him a cocky smirk and he narrowed his eyes at her, sending her a promise to get back at her later on. The group continued to badger him until he chucked his hands up.

"Right, enough." He cried, "Do none of you read the papers?" He stormed past them, ignoring their indignant murmurings and headed for the door to get some air. In his rage, he failed to notice the man stood there until he crashed into his chest, "I'm..."

"That's quite all right, John." He blinked, surprised to see Sherlock there, in his long coat and scarf despite the ridiculously high temperature in the building.  
"Sherlock?" He asked, confused, "What are you doing here?" He nodded to Faye.

"I came to see what the fuss with Newbarns is all about." He replied.

"You came out, just to see Faye singing?" He asked slowly in disbelief and Sherlock nodded once.

"It's not that hard to believe, John." He retorted, "She's been avoiding me since we arrived back from Dartmoor. I was hoping to catch her when her shift was finished."

"That's not for hours." John replied, "You know that." Sherlock shrugged non-committally, "Why is she avoiding you?"

"I think that I might have confused her." He explained, "I shouted at her then we had sex." John started coughing, his own breath catching in his throat.

"You _slept_ together?" He hissed and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Yes, do keep up." He remarked, "I'm going to approach her tonight about it and apologise for my behaviour."

"Yeah, if you apologise you'll get a slap." John replied before sighing, "Look, if you don't want to do it again, fine. Just try and not make her feel like a mistake."

"Women are supposed to be rather sensitive about these things, aren't they?" Sherlock asked and John shook his head, patting him on the arm as he left.

"Good luck, you are really going to need it." Sherlock followed him out of the door.

"You don't think I should do it." He stated and John shook his head, coming to a stop.

"What gave you that idea?" He snapped.

"You're angry." Sherlock pointed out and John nodded.

"Yes, I am!" He cried before holding his hands out, taking a deep breath, "She's our friend, Sherlock. If you fuck this up, we're both going to lose her."

"Then what should I do?" He asked, actually looking lost. It was something Sherlock really had no experience in, and John wasn't exactly an expert.

"I think you should wait until tomorrow." He reasoned, "And talk to her properly. Chances are she doesn't think it was a mistake and you can actually move forward in... whatever it is _this_ is." He waved his arms around to illustrate 'this'.

"And you think that would be the best move?" Sherlock pressed and John nodded.

"Yes, I do." Actually, he didn't really know what to think about it. Getting past the minefield of Sherlock Holmes having _any_ sort of physical relationship with anyone, he was almost completely sure he had no idea about Faye being his long lost friend Mary. Or that he was the boy that made her try and cut off her own face. Or that John knew this and hadn't told him.

He just hoped Faye knew what she was doing.

_~0~0~0~_

"_I'm walking on sunshine, o-oh._" Faye sang to herself as she opened the back door of the bar, large black bag of rubbish in one hand, "I'm walking on sunshine, oh-oh." She danced over to the skip, lifting the lid, "_I'm walking on sunshine, whoa. And don't it feel good!_" She chucked the bag in, "_Oh_ _yeah, and don't it feel good!_" She turned around and jumped back at the sight of the figure in the dark, hand in his trouser pocket.

"Hello again, Faye." He drawled in his Irish accent and Faye's eyes darted around, suddenly very aware she was in an alleyway, in the middle of the night, on her own.

"Richard?" She asked with a nervous giggle, "What are you doing here?"

"You never called me." He pointed out and she shook her head.

"No, I told you." She replied, "I have a boyfriend." He nodded a couple of times.

"Of course, 'the boyfriend'." He sucked in his breath through his teeth, "Well, I just wanted to say bye. You won't see me again." She looked surprised.

"Oh, that's a shame." She told him, not really knowing how to respond, "Well, I better..." She motioned to the open door with her thumb before practically running over to it.

"Tell Sherlock congratulations from me." He called after her, his voice void of emotion and she paused, her blood turning cold as she turned to face him.

"I... I never said his name was Sherlock." She stuttered out.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call him your boyfriend either." Richard replied, "I mean, you've been hung up on him for a-ages." He drew out the word, "But you did only sleep with each other a couple of weeks ago, didn't you?"

"Who are you?" She asked quietly and he shrugged.

"I need you to pass on a message for me." He told her, "Tell Sherlock Jim Moriarty says hi."

"You work for Moriarty?" She asked and he smirked.

"Don't we all?" He turned and began walking slowly away, "I'll know that you didn't tell him. Jim will be very mad with you." She watched him disappear into the darkness before sliding down the wall, shaking.

_~0~0~0~_

She'd only just fallen asleep when her phone rang. She didn't want to tell Sherlock one of Moriarty's minions had come to see her, she had no idea how he would react, but she had to tell someone, right? He would be mad with her? What did that even mean? She reached over, not opening her eyes as she held it to her ear.

"Hello?" She groaned.

"_Have you see the paper?_" John's frantic voice asked from the other side.

"No." She replied, "One of Moriarty's goons turned up last night, I've just got to sleep."

"I_'m coming down._" He hung up on, surprising her enough to stare at the phone for a few moments before she heard him run down the stairs outside. She grabbed a dressing gown, chucking it on and meeting him in her front room.

"What's going on?" He held a newspaper out to her and she took it, her breath catching in her throat. On the front was a large picture of Faye leaving the bar, the headline 'Holmes Girlfriend's Secret Life' screaming out at her.


	32. Explanations

_Semi-long author's note at the end for a bit of an explanation on the chapter. Please read if you can, or if you're confused or whatever :)_

_Thanks for the wonderful reviews. Please keep them coming, it's the only payment I get for this and I'm a hungry author ;)_

___Oh, and the songs from the last chapter were Valerie by The Zutons and Walking on Sunshine by Katrina and the Waves. I wasn't sure which one you meant, so I put both XD_

_~0~0~0~_

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't even focus on the snippet of the article on the front page, only seeing the words 'Mary Hudson' in the first couple of sentences. The world around her melted into the background and she felt John grab her as her knees seemed to stop holding her up.

"How did this even happen?" John asked, "I thought Mycroft..."

"Has he seen it?" She interrupted quietly.

"Faye..." She cut him off, pushing away from him and shooting him a venomous glare.

"Has. Sherlock. Seen. It?" She demanded and he nodded sadly.

"He was reading it when I came downstairs." He confirmed and she pushed past him, running up the stairs so fast she slipped on the hem of her dressing gown.

"Sherlock!" She screamed urgently, bursting into the flat to see him reading another newspaper with her face on it, "Sherlock, let me explain..." She begged and he folded the newspaper up neatly.

"Reporters, getting it wrong yet again." He sighed.

"What?" She asked, thrown by his declaration. He placed the paper on the table next to him.

"Obviously there is no way this could be true." He elaborated, "After all, you wouldn't keep something so huge from your friends. Mary never hid anything from me, so it must be a lie." He shot her an eerily large grin, forced onto his face.

"I wasn't keeping it from you, I swear." She stuttered out and the grin fell, his face filling with anger, "It's from everyone. Mary..." He stood up, storming over.

"Oh, I see." He snarled, "This is you and my brother, isn't it? Laughing behind my back."

"No!" She shouted defensively.

"Let me guess, he planted you in here to keep a close eye on me. Poor little Sherlock doesn't know his friend's still alive, let's flaunt her under his nose."

"No, it's not like that." She cried, "Sherlock, please, just let me explain."

"Oh, I know." He laughed harshly, "Let's see if Sherlock can fall in love, I get it now. It's one of Mycroft's little tests, isn't it? Play with him, see if he has any emotions and then humiliate him in front of the nation!"

"No!" She screamed, "No one was ever supposed to find out! Mary is supposed to be dead and buried, Mycroft promised me!"

"Why would he promise that?" He scoffed.

"Because she deserves to be!" She snarled, "She doesn't deserve the air she needs to breathe! She should have just died when she was 15 and everyone would have been a lot happier."

"Oh ho ho." He laughed harshly, "The sob story. You don't get out of this that easily." She growled.

"I'm not trying to get out of anything!" She exclaimed, "I just want you to understand _why._"

"What? Why you lied? Why you came here, knowing that I thought you were dead, and made me fall in love with you?" He snarled and she blinked.

"You love me?" She breathed and he shook his head.

"No, I love Faye. Who, it turns out, doesn't exist." He retorted.

"Yes she does! _I'm_ Faye!" She jabbed herself in the chest to emphasis the point, "I am Faye. You're not taking her away from me!"

"No, you are Mary." He corrected and she shook her head.

"No, I'm not!" She screamed, grasping at her head, "I'm not, I'm not Mary!"

"Yes you are, you just don't want to be." He laughed, "Let's see, you said she should have died when she was 15. That was the last time I saw Mary. Well, the last time I thought I saw her. What happened that day at school?" He looked her over, his eyes calculating.

"Sherlock, stop it." She whimpered, knowing he was trying to deduce her, "Please."

"You were never a self-conscious girl, something changed that. It was a pretty normal day, lessons, homework. So, it wasn't school itself that affected you." He stepped towards her, causing her to move back.

"Please, stop it." She begged, "Don't do this to me, please." He took another step, forcing her backwards still.

"We headed home as normal," He continued, "So, it was somewhere in between." His eyes lit up coldly, "We ran into James Shearsmith. Oh, I see. He called you, what was it, a skanky whore? A school girl crush, warped in your mind. You wanted to change the way you looked, so you attempted a little home surgery." One more step and she toppled onto the sofa, "A pathetic reaction from a pathetic girl." She nodded, tears in her eyes,

"Yes, you're right." She sobbed, "It was, that's what Mary is! She's a pathetic, stupid, fat, frizzy-haired girl with dull brown eyes and too big a jaw line. She deserves to die, she deserves to suffer and I spent the best past of ten years making sure she did. I hurt her, I starved her, I cut off her hair and I even once tried to suffocate her. But she just wouldn't go away." She looked up at him, suddenly fuming herself, "It was okay for you, Sherlock. You did your part, you got what you wanted. You broke my heart and my head, you never had to deal with that silly little girl following you around again. But I couldn't get away from her. I got locked in her head for far too long. Mycroft saved me, he found a way to let me out. He gave me Faye, he created a new person I could be. Faye made me a better person, Sherlock. All them... thoughts, all the hatred I felt disappeared. I could finally move on. I dyed my hair, changed my eyes and I was okay." He stared at her, eyes narrowed.

"Frizzy hair?" He repeated and she nodded, "It was me." He breathed in realisation and she nodded.

"You said I was ugly. It broke my heart." She whispered, "But nothing that happened was your fault. I did it to myself, it wasn't you."

"Then why come back?"

"I didn't mean to." She explained tiredly, "Mycroft found me somewhere to live. I didn't know you were here until you burst into my flat and told me to move." She sighed, "I should have, then you wouldn't have been drawn back into the mess that is my life." She sat back, looking up at him with pleading eyes, "I didn't know you thought I was dead. I just thought you didn't care. Mycroft let me think you hated me so I would get over you. I didn't expect to fall in love with you again." She sniffed, "I was going to tell you, I swear." He sat down on the coffee table in front of her, reaching out and taking her hand.

"I know." He told her calmly, "I worked it out an Devon." Her brows furrowed in confusion.

"What?" She whispered.

"When we were all affected by the drug, I hallucinated that Moriarty was there with us." He explained, "But you were screaming for Mary to stay away from you. I couldn't work out why, but little things you started to say were starting to make sense. When we went to Paris, you said that you knew I'd learnt autonomy at school, like it was a fact. The only way you could have known that was if you were at school with me. You said you tried to cut your face up when you were 15, which was the same age Mary disappeared. And then there is Mycroft. He has been looking after you for so many years, and if he told me you were dead two years after you disappeared, but you weren't, it means he has always been looking after Mary. He did the same at school, kept a watch over her so he could have her watch over me. It makes your strange relationship with him make a lot more sense."

"Why didn't you say anything?" She asked him.

"I wanted to see how long it would take you to confess." He replied simply. She stared at him, confused by his behaviour. He had been so angry, now he seemed too calm.

"Are you angry with me?" She asked, "Because, quite frankly, I have no idea what you're thinking."

"I was." He admitted, "However, people don't just change their identities without any sort of reason. I assumed you had been reassigned an identity due to seeing some sort of hideous crime when we were children, but that doesn't normally get published in the papers." She looked down at his hand holding hers and the she looked back at him.

"Before, you..." She trailed off unsurely, "You said that you loved me." She didn't want to push him, but she had to know if he'd meant it.

"I'm sure you are aware that I'm not an expert on human relationships." He replied, "However, after the sheer volume of romantic comedies I have seen over the last month or so, it's a conclusion that even I cannot deny."

"You've been watching romantic comedies?" She asked, "I thought you said they were piles of badly written sentimental drivel?"

"Oh, that stands true." He retorted, "And I now have several examples as proof. Nevertheless, I had to watch them." At her still confused look he sighed in exasperation, "You are as bad as John for not paying attention." He scolded, "I told you in the pub bedroom, I was trying to see how I could make you smile." She shook her head with a laugh of disbelief.

"Oh Sherlock." She sighed, "You could have just asked me. I can tell you a sure-fire way of making me smile."

"Go on then." He challenged and she grinned.

"Tell me again that you love me." She commanded and he frowned at the seemingly sudden demand.

"Why?" He asked, perplexed and she sighed.

"Just do it." He glanced at the door, knowing John had rushed out to see her, and it was certain that he would appear at any moment.

"I love you." He stated and was surprised at the smile that spread across her face. The same smile that he'd first noticed in France. His brain automatically began storing this new information and he leant in closer, "I love you." The smile fell slightly, but was compensated for by the dark look in her eyes as her pupils dilated, "Fascinating." The curious part of him had him grabbing her arm, taking her pulse to find it elevated again.

"Sherlock?" She asked huskily and he looked away from her wrist to look her deep in the eyes, "Say it again." He shifted closer, leaning in so his lips were almost touching hers.

"I love you." He whispered and she growled, slamming her lips onto his. His mouth pulled up into a smirk as he felt her tongue demanding entrance, which he happily gave her

"John will be up in a minute." She panted against his mouth as her fingers danced through his hair, "We've been quiet for too long." He moved so he was kneeling between her legs, his own fingers tracing patterns up her spine.

"So?" He asked lowly, his lips caressing hers teasingly.

"We should move to your bedroom." She replied, "Otherwise we'll give him the fright of his life." Sherlock pushed himself up, dragging her through the kitchen as John walked past the side entrance to said room, spotting them disappearing into the back bedroom.

"Well, that's one way of sorting things out." He muttered to himself before shivering at the image that immediately popped into his head. He strode swiftly up to his own bedroom, turning on his portable television to replace the images with daytime TV.

_~0~0~0~_

_Right, I feel like I should explain Sherlock's reaction, so here it goes..._

_Sherlock worked it out on the way back from Devon, he's just being a bit cocky here and letting her think it was earlier. Once he made the connection, there was nothing he could do to change the past, so he had to work out what to do from there. Once he'd proven that there was nothing malicious behind her keeping the secret, by making her emotional and therefore more inclined to tell the truth, it became unimportant to him. Much like John's Mary in Season 3, once he realised John loved Mary he did everything he could to keep her safe, including keeping her previous life a secret. There was nothing he could do to change the fact that she lied, so there was no point in being angry about it. I've taken a similar stance on this._

_It will come up again, but I feel like it might seem a bit of an under-reaction, and that an explanation might be needed to understand my direction with it. I hope it's okay, let me know if you think so or if you think it's rubbish._


	33. The News

_Short chapter is short because I've only been home an hour or so and I have to go to bed now :)_

_~0~0~0~_

John really didn't want to do it. There was a list of things he'd rather do, for example he could chop his foot off, or learn to knit. But he had to, he'd put it off long enough, so he reached up and knocked three times on Sherlock's bedroom door. He ignored the sound of movement on the other side, the sound of sheets moving together, waiting for an answer that never came. With a reluctant sigh, he tried again.

"Go away." Sherlock snapped from the other side like an teenager shouting at their parents.

"Sherlock, be nice!" Faye scolded before squealing, "Stop it!" John visibly shivered.

"Someone's here to see you." He called over the noise, "When are you coming out?"

"Ten minutes!" Sherlock snapped.

"You said that yesterday!"

"Well, I obviously meant ten minutes from now then, didn't I?" He growled, "Now go away!"

"Stop shouting through the door." Faye exclaimed before there was some more rustling. The door was then thrown open, an irate Sherlock stood glaring at him.

"Tell them I'm too busy for any cases, then go away." He snarled. John kept his gaze firmly on his face, ignoring the fact he was yet again only dressed in a white sheet.

"You're not too busy." He pointed out, "But it's not a case, it's your brother." Sherlock leant out, seeing his brother stood in the front room, his umbrella at his side.

"Oh." He muttered before grinning, "Sorry, dear brother!" He called sarcastically, "I'm too busy having sex with your best friend!"

"Sherlock!" Faye cried indignantly, appearing next to him in the doorway wearing her dressing gown, "A bit of warning next time, yeah?" He nodded, pulling her up against him and lowering his lips onto hers. Everyone else knew it was just a show for Mycroft, who was now glaring at them with pursed lips, and she batted him away, "I have to go to work today, anyway. Might be a good idea to leave the bedroom."

"That is never a good idea." He murmured, trying to get her to kiss him again.

"Can you please not do that in front of me?" John begged.

"I'm not talking to_ him_." Sherlock declared angrily, pointedly not looking down the hallway at his brother, who barely seemed fazed by his brother's anger.

"Well, I will then." Faye retorted and he shut the door on the pair in a huff. She sighed, shaking her head in exasperation then turned to John.

"We did other things as well." She replied, "We watched a few movies and made fun of them. You know, you look a lot like Martin Freeman." She walked away from him as he threw his hands up in the air.

"Will everyone please stop saying that?!" He exclaimed. Faye sat in Sherlock's seat, smiling apologetically up at Mycroft.

"He's still not very happy with you." She explained, "I'm trying to win him round, though."

"As I can see." He drawled, casting a glance down at her bare feet. She crossed her legs, pulling the dressing gown down and she rolled her eyes, shaking her head good-naturedly.

"Have you sorted out what went wrong with the press?"

"There are a few editors who are going to struggle to pay their bills." Mycroft explained, "Although, we're still not sure who leaked the information in the first place."

"But you are trying, right?" She asked and he nodded.

"I can assure you my best men are on it." He glanced at John, who had taken a seat on the sofa, flicking through his laptop, "But we have bigger problems at the moment." She frowned.

"What can be bigger than this?" She asked.

"Your parents are travelling down to see you." Her eyes widened.

"Why?" She exclaimed in panic, causing John to look over at her in concern.

"Is that a bad thing?" He asked and she spun in the chair, nodding furiously.

"They blame Sherlock for everything that happened." She explained, "Quite wrongly, I might add, and it's really just my mum, but..." She groaned, turning back to Mycroft, "I thought they were on the continent." That's all she ever got; 'We're going on holiday _on the continent._' For all she knew, they could be in backwater Belgium, but she had always assumed it meant France or Italy.

"It would appear someone left them a copy of one of the more national papers outside their bedroom door the day they were due to come back home." He explained.

"Let me guess, it was probably the same person who leaked the information in the first place?"

"It's a possibility." He admitted, "Nevertheless, I've managed to delay their arrival until tomorrow, but that was only after assuring them I had a close eye on you the entire time." She sighed, "And that I take you to back to my home in the meantime." She snorted.

"Well, that's not going to happen." She declared, "I'll meet them there tomorrow, but I'm not leaving. It's not practical, I have to go to work tonight."

"I will have a car pick you up at the end of your shift." He explained.

"I'm not travelling all the way to your house and then meeting my parents in the morning. I'll be exhausted, and I barely have enough patience for their crap as it is. I'm staying with Sherlock and John." She crossed her arms defiantly.

"Can you not act like a child for a few moments, and consider how your parents are feeling over the matter?" He asked, "I've tried to assure them that you are safe and healthy, they just want to make sure themselves."

"Yes, and have you thought about how your mum feels about you starving yourself for your waistline?" She retorted, "Don't you date pull that crap on me, Mycroft Holmes. I will come in the morning, and that's it." She stared him down, refusing to budge on the matter and he sighed.

"I am just trying to help." He told her and she smiled warmly, standing up and pulling him into a hug he froze under. She hadn't expected anything less with John in the room, but the fact he didn't push her off reassured her he wasn't too uncomfortable.

"I know you are." She replied gratefully, "But they're not going to be happy no matter what I do. So why can't I just stay here tonight?" He sighed, stepping out of her grasp and nodding.

"Fine." He replied decisively, "I will send a car for you to meet them at my home. Please do not bring Sherlock, I think one shock is enough for them, don't you?" She nodded.

"Wasn't planning on it." She promised, "Thank you, Mycroft." She placed a kiss on his cheek and he strode towards the door, nodding at John as he left the flat. She sighed in exasperation before falling back into Sherlock's chair.

"So, your parents?" John asked, walking over and sitting in his chair across from her. She nodded.

"My mum really doesn't like Sherlock." She explained tiredly, "Or Faye. Or the fact that I work in a bar. I know she's just worried, but she also wants me to stay at home for the rest of my life so she can keep an eye on me. My dad's better, once he sees I'm okay he'll leave me alone but I could have done without this at the moment."

"Are you sure you don't want to set her on Sherlock?" He asked, "It would be hilarious." She giggled then leant forward, patting his hand.

"She'll kill him." She replied before standing up, stretching, "Right, I need to calm myself down." She walked past John, ruffling his hair, "Sherlock!" She called, heading into his room and shutting the door behind her. He was lying on the bed, arms behind his head as the television blared some property program. She'd brought her own bedroom television up when she realised his was from the living room, leaving John without entertainment when he was downstairs.

"What did my pretentious older brother want?" he asked, turning around to see her leaning against the door, a smirk on her face.

"Oh, my parents are coming to see me." She explained before taking a step forward, untying her dressing gown and letting it drop to the floor. He sat up, grinning from ear to ear as she revealed it was all she had been wearing.


	34. An Insight

_Cannot even begin to believe the stats on this story. Thank you so very much, you beautiful people you XD_

_~0~0~0~_

Faye flopped down on the sofa, groaning with relief as she tore the blonde wig off her head. Mycroft had suggested, quite rightly as well, that she should have blonde hair whilst visiting her parents to reassure her nothing drastic had changed since she'd moved into Baker Street. Her dad had been lovely, as he always was, just happy to know his daughter was okay and very interested in her life generally. Her mother, on the other hand, had spent the entire time trying to convince her to move back up north into the family home. It was a very tiring day, with no actual arguments but a lot of backhanded snide comments, stuff about her posture and the fact she had apparently put on a bit of weight. So what if she had? That stuff bothered Mary, it didn't bother Faye. Faye liked her food, it was better than not eating at all, right? Still, she silently cursed herself as she waved away the packet of biscuits John offered her, sticking with the cup of tea instead.

"Was it really that bad?" John asked, joining her on his couch. She nodded, chucking her feet onto the coffee table.

"She asked me when I was going to stop playing famous and just go home." She explained, "Playing famous? I don't even know what that means!" She leant back, closing her eyes, "My lord, I forgot how stressful she was." She opened one of her eyes, "Which reminds me, where's Sherlock?"

"I think he got bored waiting for you, so he went out a few hours ago."

"Where?" She asked and he shrugged.

"He doesn't say, does he? He just gets up and goes. Could be gone days. It's like living with an errant teenager."

"You sound like his dad." She laughed and he grimaced.

"I'm his substitute dad, aren't I?" He groaned and she laughed again, leaning on his shoulder as he joined her at the back of the sofa.

"All the joy of children with none of the sex!" She giggled and he nudged her in the side.

"Please don't say things like that to me." He mock-scolded and they fell silent, Faye occasionally sipping her cup of tea.

"God, I'm bored." She declared, "Wanna go out and get pissed?"

"Oh God, yes." John replied and the pair jumped up, wig discarded as they both rushed out of flat.

_~0~0~0~_

John had practically passed out when they had arrived back home, but Faye didn't even feel slightly drunk. She'd had trouble drinking all night, having only sipped on a couple of glasses whilst John had drunk at their normal speed. So, he'd stumbled up to his bedroom and she'd changed into her nightwear, curling up on Sherlock's chair and staring at the non-burning fire. She pulled the sleeves of her dressing gown over her hands, scrunching it up tightly. She'd hoped the time with John would have helped her get over seeing her mother. All she had in her head was '_Mary, __sit up straight_' and '_Mary, why don't you just come home?_'

"It's not Mary, it's Faye." She muttered out loud, which was her go-to response now with her mother. She rarely said anything else to her, actually. Her mother, who still thought her self-esteem issues were a 'phase', didn't care if she was happy as long as people thought she was normal. Even her father called her Faye, and even she would admit it may not have been the healthiest thing in the world, but wasn't that her choice?

"_I always knew that Sherlock was bad news._" She'd twittered, "_Mycroft was supposed to be looking after you._" No, Mycroft wasn't. It wasn't his job to keep her from falling back. Mycroft helped her because he was her friend, not out of obligation. Sure she played on it a bit, but she would never make him do anything he was uncomfortable with, "_Really, Mary, you take advantage of the poor man._" She didn't, did she?

She placed her head in her hands. This is what she did to her, made her question everything. She had been happy until that morning. She rubbed her eyes roughly, her contacts long since gone, before bowing her head and squeezing them shut. If she could just stop her mother's voice...

"It's not Mary, it's Faye." She stated again, trying to sound sure of herself. It didn't work, but it never did. Only after a few days did the remnants of her nitpicking leave her.

"Have you been out drinking again?" Sherlock asked, sitting in John's chair considering his was otherwise occupied. He blinked, confused and a little surprised as her head snapped up, her eyes opening wide. Her eyes were shining, de-aging her incredibly. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts and stopping herself looking the most like Mary since she'd moved into 221C.

"Yeah, me and John went to a couple of pubs." She explained, "He's hammered."

"Your meeting with your parents went that well, did it?" He asked sarcastically and she chuckled slightly.

"Oh, you would have had a field day with them." She replied, standing up, "Your chair, Your Majesty." They switched seats and M-Faye settled into John's seat comfortably, "Where did you scamper off to?" He waved his hand.

"Trying to locate the best substance to substitute for human saliva." He replied offhandedly, "John no longer wants me to keep samples in the fridge." She nodded slowly.

"Well, I can say I wholeheartedly agree with him." She retorted, "However, there's still a fridge in my flat you've yet to do anything with, why not fix it up and use that?"

"You also have expressed a desire for me not to keep my more human experiments in your home." Sherlock pointed out.

"Yes, well, I've suddenly had a change of heart." She retorted shortly. That would be a sight to see – '_oh mother, can you just fetch the milk? It's beside the __specimen__ tube of saliva_'. She tried to suppress the grin at the thought and Sherlock watched her have a little bit of a monologue in her own head.

"So, how was the visit to my brother's stately home?" Sherlock asked and she shrugged.

"Fine. Same as always." She quickly replied, "My mum's my mum."

"Well, obviously." He retorted, "You can't change who you're biologically related to. Unfortunately." She shot him an exasperated look.

"That's not what I meant, arsehole." She snapped, "My mum's never been happy with me, and she never will be. It's easier to just move on from it."

"Parent's rarely live up to our expectations." He agreed, "Otherwise my mother would cease to insist that I take her to see monotonous musicals."

"Well, my mother sat there insisting for five hours that I should fall in line and become a little old-fashioned housewife with seven grandchildren and stop this 'charade'." She made the quotation marks in the air, "While insisting on not calling me by my name. My name is Mary, not Faye!" She shouted before her whole body went tense, her fingers clawing up, "I mean, my name's Faye. It's Faye." She corrected almost silently, looking down at her lap. Sherlock frowned, realising that she was probably in need of some comfort and, considering he neither had the inclination or the know-how to comfort anyone, he did the next best thing. He reached out and took her hands, pulling her onto his lap and kissing her forcefully. She took a moment to relax under his touch, her hands unclenching and winding their way around his neck as she began to mirror his actions, their lips caressing each other's whilst she let him dominate the kiss entirely. He couldn't offer her any emotional comfort, but he could offer her physical and the idea he was willing to made her legs turn to jelly.

"Bedroom." He hissed against her mouth, "Now, Faye." She shook her head.  
"No, chair." She replied, moving around so she was sat facing him, straddling his legs, "Then bedroom."

_~0~0~0~_

"Why am I here?" Faye muttered out, smiling at the small crowd that was watching them, "I didn't even go on this one."

"If I have to be here, so do you." Sherlock replied.

"No, that's not how it works." She moaned, "That's never how it worked."

"If you insist on sleeping with me, then yes it does."

"Children." John scolded and the pair fell silent, but not before Sherlock shot her a triumphant smirk. She tried to be angry, she really did, but he just looked so good in that suit... She reached down, pulling the hem of her dress further towards her knee, suddenly feeling very out of place in the small but very posh art gallery.

"_Falls of the Reichenbach_," The gallery director announced, "Turner's masterpiece, thankfully recovered owing to the prodigious talent of Mr. Sherlock Holmes." The crowd applauded as he approached the trio, holding out a small professionally-wrapped gift box, "A small token of our gratitude." Sherlock took it with a look of distaste clearly displayed on his face.

"Diamond cufflinks. All my cuffs have buttons." Sherlock grumbled ungratefully and the director's smile faltered slightly.

"He means thank you." John corrected reassuringly and Sherlock turned to him.

"Do I?" He asked.

"Just say it." John commanded lowly, with the feeling he should be more annoyed at the obvious parent/child relationship they had. Sherlock turned to the director, shooting him a very fake and very brief smile.

"Thank you." He said without any feeling and he grabbed Faye's hand, fully intent of leaving the gallery far behind but John grabbed his arm, stilling the pair of them.

"Hang on." He whispered in warning before forcing a smile for the flash of cameras that went off. Faye forced her own on before stepping a tiny bit closer to Sherlock, getting his attention without showing it to the press.

"Never sleeping with you again if this is what it entails." She muttered without looking up.

"I sincerely doubt you can keep away." He replied and they both grinned, still looking forward.


	35. He's Back

_Over 200 follows, 195 reviews and 99 favourites! I'm so utterly, entirely grateful and have no idea what to do about it!_

_~0~0~0~_

Faye hopped up the last couple of stairs, heading into the kitchen of 221B as John came out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair and wearing only his dressing gown.

"Sexy get-up, John." She teased, placing a kiss on Sherlock's cheek before flicking the switch on the bottom of the kettle down. Sherlock was looking at something in his microscope he'd 'borrowed' from St Bart's a few years earlier, something to do with the mannequin hanging from the ceiling with a rope around it's next. She caught the corners of his mouth turn every so slightly upwards and he glanced up to see her beaming happily at him. He smirked in reply before going back to the dust sample he was inspecting. He'd made her smile again.

"I try my best." He retorted as Sherlock's phone vibrated across the room, the text alert thankfully void of the woman's moan it had once been, "It's your phone." He called to Sherlock as he sat down on his chair, not even flinching at the suicidal male dummy swinging gently behind him.

"Mm. Keeps doing that." Sherlock replied vaguely, not even looking up. He obviously wasn't going to answer whoever it was who was trying to contact him. Faye pulled down three mugs, chucking a teabag in each as the kettle popped it's switch back into the 'off' position. She poured the water into all three before heading to the fridge, ignoring the suspect white bag there as she pulled out the milk.

"So, did you just talk to him for a really long time?" John asked as he flipped through the newspaper, glad to see it void of pictures of himself, Sherlock or Faye.

"Oh." Sherlock muttered, glancing up at mannequin, "Henry Fishgard never committed suicide." He continued as if it explained everything. He picked up an old book, slamming it, causing the dust he'd been inspecting to shoot out of it, "Bow Street Runners: missed everything." Faye placed one of the mugs next to him, turning the handle towards him before carrying the other two into the living room. She handed one to John before making herself comfortable in Sherlock's chair. She knew he wouldn't drink his cup, but she always made him on just in case. If he drank it, she'd be worried.

"Pressing case, is it?" John asked off-handedly as Sherlock went back to his microscope.

"They're all pressing 'til they're solved." He retorted. Faye blew on top of her drink to cool it down quicker.

"You did ask him to take a low-profile case." She pointed out and John nodded, having to concede her point.

"I just didn't expect it to be _this _low-profile." He replied. Sherlock's phone went off again and Faye jumped off the chair, seeing John's annoyed face.

"I'll get it." She called, reaching over and picking up the phone. She blinked in surprise at the text, "_Come and Play. Tower Hill. Jim Moriarty._" She read slowly before turning to Sherlock, who had leant back in his chair at the message, "That's not good, is it?" She asked quietly. Sherlock replied by standing up and storming to grab his coat as John stood up, sending her a reassuring smile even though he was quite alarmed by the man reappearing.

"Get dressed." Sherlock barked at John, "Lestrade will have a police car here for us in four minutes." John rolled his eyes, there was the normal Sherlock, but he gave Faye a gentle rub on the arm before heading upstairs. She held the phone out to Sherlock, who didn't look at the message as he pocketed the phone.

"I'll... I'll go have a shower." She told him lamely, "Let me know when you're back." She always felt awkward when it came to Moriarty. Not only had she still not told Sherlock that Richard Brook had been working for him all along, but she knew nothing about him other than he was an extremely powerful and dangerous man, and quite frankly Mycroft took up all her scope in that department. He grabbed her arm tightly as she tried to walk past him, hurting her slightly although unintentionally.

"You do not leave my side until we know what he's up to." He hissed lowly and she frowned.

"Won't I just get in the way?" She whispered and he glanced up the stage.

"I don't have the time to waste on worrying you." He explained quietly, "He took John and strapped a bomb to him last time he wanted to play. You do not leave my side, understood?" She nodded minutely, a suitably sombre look on her face he did not like. So he pulled her against him, placing his lips gently on hers in his completely tested way to make her smile again as John appeared. He shook his head, still unable to get over the image of them together. They spent a lot of time in Sherlock's room, but they weren't actually very publicly affectionate.

"Right, enough of that." He said loudly and Sherlock let Faye go, smirking at the large smile on her face.

_~0~0~0~_

The Tower of London. She was in the security section of the Tower of London, this should have seemed more surreal that it did, she was absolutely sure of it. Sherlock was sat on the chair, watching the footage of Moriarty on a loop while John hovered over one shoulder and Lestrade over the other. Considering she was only there to free up the parts of Sherlock's brain that could be used on solving the game the evil genius was currently playing, she slowly walked around the rest of the dungeon-esque room.

"That glass is tougher than anything." Lestrade explained as she slowly made her loop around. The man on the screen was facing away from them, pressing something onto the glass box surrounding the large, ornate throne. She pulled out her phone as she came to a stop next to Lestrade, checking the time in her slight boredom. Being useless was very boring.

"Not tougher than crystallised carbon. He used a diamond." Sherlock retorted. Lestrade leant forward and changed the camera angle, the scene running backwards as Moriarty un-smashed the glass, revealing the message 'Get Sherlock'. She looked up to see what this Moriarty looked like and her breath caught in her throat.

"_T__ell Sherlock congratulations from me."_

Her phone fell from her hand, the large clatter it made on the floor causing both Lestrade and John to turn to her in surprise. John frowned at the sight of his friend looking absolutely terrified at the man on the screen.

"Faye?" He asked in concern, darting forward as she swayed, her hand flying to her mouth.

"You work for Moriarty?" She asked and he smirked.

"_Don't we all?" He turned and began walking slowly away, "I'll know that you didn't tell him. Jim will be very mad with you."_

"Woah!" He exclaimed, Lestrade catching her on the other side as Sherlock spun in the chair to see what was happening behind him, "Faye, what's wrong?" She shook her head. All that time. 'Accidentally' bumping into her in the street, 'accidentally' turning up at her place of work. Trying time and time again to get her to go out with him.

"He's Moriarty?" She asked lowly and John shared a bewildered look with Sherlock before nodding.

"Yes, why?"

"Because that's Richard Brook."


	36. The Plan

_The beginning of this chapter has been a pain in the arse. I've re-written it so many times. So, this is what you are getting. Sorry it's not fantastic, but it wasn't behaving :(_

_~0~0~0~_

Richard was Moriarty. Richard was Moriarty. Richard Brooks was bloody Jim Moriarty! How was that possible? Why was that possible? What the hell was Moriarty doing asking her out to dinner? Pretending to be her friend, pretending that he wanted to date her?

"Why me, though?" She asked, sitting on the arm of Sherlock's chair as he stared out into the room, his fingers pointed in front of his mouth, "When I first ran into him we weren't exactly fighting to keep our hands off each other."

"When _did_ you first meet him?" John asked her and she thought back, trying to remember what she was doing when the pretty man with the gorgeous Irish accent had bumped into her in the street.

"Err, it was on the way back from..." She groaned loudly, "Oh god, it was after bloody Adler! I bet she relayed the fact I wanted you back to him!" She rubbed her eyes. Great, Irene Adler yet again!

"So, he was going to use you to get to Sherlock?" John asked, looking at the detective for confirmation.

"Obviously." Sherlock muttered in reply, "He must have gotten word that I chose you over Adler. He's probably got big plans for you." She looked down at him, alarmed.

"Has big plans?" She asked, "As in, 'is still going to go through with them' sort of plans?" Sherlock nodded, standing up and heading over to John's laptop.

"He isn't going to drop them just because Scotland Yard have finally got their incompetent hands on him." He replied, "There's more to this than that. He is most likely the reason behind your real identity being posted across the newspapers."

"Why would he do that?" She exclaimed.

"Why else would he do anything?" Sherlock retorted, "Because he can. You're not to leave this flat. He's in custody, but that does not mean he hasn't got men working for him right now. If you've disobeyed him, he will come after you."

"Oh, gee, thanks Sherlock." She snapped, "Top points on the reassuring there."

"You made yourself a target when you started dating me." He called over, "You knew what you were getting into."

"Wait, we're dating?" She asked and he shot her a disbelieving look.

"Is that not the correct terminology for two people in an exclusive relationship?" He asked and she nodded.

"Well, yeah. I just didn't realise that's what _you_ thought that's what we were." She looked at John, "Did you?"

"I don't like to think about you two doing anything." He replied, "I'm still convincing myself that he can have a relationship." Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Anyway, back to the whole 'staying in the flat' thing." She started before Sherlock started arguing with John again, "That's all well and good until I have to go to work. Maybe if I call Mycroft, explain the situation he'll get me a car to and from the bar."

"You're not going to work." Sherlock reiterated, "You're not leaving the flat."

"I have to go to work, Sherlock." She insisted, "It's how I make a living."

"Not anymore. You handed in your resignation." She shook her head, a sinking feeling in her stomach as he didn't take his eyes off the screen.

"No I haven't." She replied shakily. He closed the lid pointedly, standing up and heading back to his chair, sitting down and crossing one leg over the other.

"You just did."

_~0~0~0~_

The argument could be heard down the other end of the street, John was sure of it. Unfortunately, only he could hear the aftermath of it. Did they really have to leave the door open? He didn't need to know what they were up to, especially considering he wasn't up to anything remotely similar himself. Bloody couples.

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock rolled onto his side, watching Faye sleep with a smile on her face. Her roots were really showing now, the light brown it should be showing at the top of her head. With his brain still completely wired over the Moriarty problem, he was never going to get any sleep anyway, so he had found himself watching her. He gently reached over, pushing the hair off her face in time with her breathing so he could examine the faint scars on her jawline.

_When I was almost 16, the boy I fancied told me I was ugly._

That was him. He'd been aware for years before she'd disappeared that she had fancied him, but he couldn't remember saying anything of the sort to her. He wouldn't have, she had never been anything that could have been considered ugly. Awkward, maybe. As a teenager she developed quicker than she bought clothes so sometimes her tops were a bit too tight. And she'd had to wear them ridiculous braces for nine months when they were 13. She'd been loud, annoying at times, and she'd insisted on following around for so long that he'd given up trying to shake her off. The day she'd disappeared had been one of the worst he'd ever lived through. Until John, she had been the sole reason he'd never let anyone in. Mycroft always had a field day with that, and yet he'd kept her to himself. He still didn't understand the motivation around that, but one thing at a time.

He wasn't about to let anyone take Mary off him again. He'd do anything to keep her safe, even if that meant ensuring she never left the flat again. He placed his lips against hers, slowly moving them and encouraging her to wake up and respond.

"Sherlock." She groaned with a yawn, "I need some sleep."

"Sleeps boring." He scolded, rolling her on top of him so she was straddling his waist, "You, on the other hand, are very stimulating." She rolled her eyes and leant down to brush her lips against his.

"I'm glad you're really getting into this caring for other humans business," She told him, "But I just don't think I can keep up with you." He wrapped his fingers in her hair, his fingers playing with her scalp just like he knew she liked as he gently kept her in place.

"You can, Mary." He replied huskily, "My Mary. My beautiful," he placed a kiss on her lips, "sexy," kiss, "_my_ Mary." He locked eyes with her to see her wide-eyed and looking almost scared, "Kiss me, Mary." The way he'd begged her, the way her old name rolled off his tongue had her slamming her lips onto his. He smirked; step one complete.

_~0~0~0~_

Moriarty was found Not Guilty. Then again, Sherlock knew that was going to happen. That's why he'd left John to watch the outcome of the trial on his own and had stayed in the flat with Faye. John had rung him, confused at the verdict, but as he had known better he'd prepared for the arrival of their guest. Faye watched him make a pot of tea, carrying it along with a milk jug and sugar bowl to John's chair, placing it down next to it before picking up his violin, heading to the window.

"Sherlock?" She called over from behind John's laptop, "What's the tea for?" He didn't look at her, instead starting playing the violin as he kept an eye on the street outside.

"You should go have a lie down." He told her and she frowned, standing up.

"I'm sorry?" She asked as the door downstairs opened. She looked towards the door, "That can't be John already, can it?"

"No, it can't." He agreed, "Go to the bedroom."

"No!" She protested, "I'm not a child, what the hell is going on?" There was slow footsteps heading towards them and she gasped, "Sherlock, who is that?" She asked him, although she suspected she knew who it was. He kept playing and she headed towards him, "Sherlock, please talk to me." He'd convinced her to barely leave the flat unless both he and John were there with her, he'd quit her job for her because of the man she knew was coming into the flat. Why wasn't he doing anything?

"Go to the bedroom." He told her firmly again.

"Yes, go to the bedroom Mary." She tensed and turned around slowly to see Moriarty stood in the doorway, a smug smirk on his lips, "I'm sure we can both join you later."


	37. Date Night

_This fanfic now has over 200 reviews! *throws confetti* Thank you all so much!_

_On a side note, people always seemed very interested in me writing Doctor Who smut, so what about Sherlock smut? Is that something y'all be interested in? _

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock watched her whole body tense as Moriarty walked in, picking up an apple from the coffee table. He wasn't sure if she was actually afraid of him, or the fact that he'd called her Mary, but either way she needed to leave the room before Moriarty also worked out which.

"It's... It's Faye, actually." She corrected with a stutter. Moriarty shrugged.

"It could be Henry for all I could care." He glared up at her, "Run along. Daddy's are talking." She shivered.

"Eugh, that's all kinds of wrong." She exclaimed before shaking her head, "I'm going to wait for John. Let me know when you two are done." She headed to the door, making sure to give Moriarty a wide berth.

"You should go to the bedroom." Sherlock told her in warning.

"I think I'm more in danger up here with you two locking heads then down there, wouldn't you agree?" She snapped, leaving them to it. Moriarty watched her leave before turning back to Sherlock with a grin.

"Oh, you're in the dog house." He taunted, "Although, I can imagine how entertaining she is to calm down." He chucked the apple in the air, catching it with one hand.

"Of course, you wouldn't know, would you?" Sherlock retorted, stopping playing his violin, "Kettle's just boiled." He declared and Moriarty frowned angrily. He wanted to continue to talk about Faye; fascinating.

"Must have been annoying." Jim pressed, before glancing around the room to find a seat, "May I?"

"Of course." Sherlock motioned to John's chair but Moriarty took his place in Sherlock's instead.

"All that time and she was right under your nose. Being fooled by someone so painfully ordinary." Moriarty continued, "That's why you shouldn't meet your heroes, I suppose. Always let you down." Sherlock didn't reply, just set about pouring the two cups of tea, making sure to strain each one, "You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end ..."

"and the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it." Sherlock finished quickly, handing the man his cup.

"Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody." Jim told him as Sherlock sat across from him.

"Neither can you. That's why you've come." Sherlock replied, "Because I'm still here, and she said no."

_~0~0~0~_

Faye sat on the step outside the front door, refusing to think about the two men upstairs. The world walked on by, a couple of people sparing her a second glance but they were more interested in the flat and the two men it contained, even if they only knew one of them was there. The fact that the street seemed to empty was her first warning, and she wasn't surprised that it was almost completely empty when the front door opened and Moriarty joined her on the ground.

"You said I wouldn't see you again." She told him and he rolled his eyes.

"I'm a criminal, we lie." He mock-whispered at her, as if he was letting her into a secret, "We're not very nice people." She shook her head.

"Why are you even here?" She asked, "If you're done tormenting Sherlock, shouldn't you be getting back to being a supervillan? Surely I'm not worth wasting your time on."

"Ordinarily, you would be right." He told her, "But, you disobeyed me and now I'm really mad." He pulled an over-exaggerated frown, "So you are going to make it up to me." She looked at him, incredulous before snorting and shaking her head.

"Yeah, sure I am." She replied sarcastically.

"Is laughing at me a good idea?" He asked in warning and she waved her hands in the air, illustrating the world around them.

"Is any of this a good idea?" She retorted, "Nothing that has ever happened has ever been considered a good idea." He chuckled at her pessimism.

"All I want is for you to do one teeny, tiny thing." He assured her.

"And I really don't care." She snapped in reply, "Please go away." He held his hands up in defeat before standing up, stretching dramatically.

"It doesn't matter if you agree or not." He told her, bending at the waist so he was looking directly into her eyes, "You will end up doing exactly what I want. Everyone always does." He stood up straight again, placing his hands in his suit pockets, "You'll make him cry, I can laugh and we can all go on our merry way." He shot her a wink, "I'll see you around, Mary." He started sauntering off and she jumped up, thoroughly confused.

"Wait, what do you mean by that?" She called after him but he just shot her a wave, disappearing around the corner. She shook her head, 'make him cry'? She sighed and took off in a jog, going around the corner and bumping into John, who looked surprised to see her as she tried to spot Moriarty, but he'd gone.

"How did you manage to get Sherlock to let you out of the flat?" He asked with a laugh before seeing she was otherwise distracted, "Faye, are you okay?" She looked back at him, as if realising he was there and she grinned, linking her arm through his.

"Yeah, of course I am." She replied, "Well, you know, except the fact that Moriarty is out and on the rampage, but that'll be fine." John shook his head, glancing down and double taking.

"Why aren't you wearing shoes?" He asked her and she shrugged.

"Why would I?" She retorted, "I'm not allowed outside anymore, remember?"

_~0~0~0~_

Faye switched the hair-dryer off, her hair a suitable dryness. Well, it wasn't exactly dry but she was getting a very warm head and she couldn't be bothered to finish it off properly. She jumped off Sherlock's bed and headed to the door, frowning when she couldn't open the door. She tried again, shaking the handle as she tried to fight her way out of the room. Panic flared in her chest.

"Sherlock, open the door!" She shouted, rattling the door again, "John? What the hell is going on? Let me out!"

"Calm down." Sherlock's voice snapped from the other side and she paused her movements to glare hard at the door.

"Why the hell am I locked in your bedroom?" She hissed angrily, rattling the handle extra hard to show him her anger.

"So you don't come out until everything is ready." He replied and she frowned.

"Ready? What are you doing out there? Please tell me you've not brought another body home because Molly promised me she wouldn't let you do that anymore." Her mind drifted back to poor Mr Erikkson, who had been dressed up in one of Mrs Hudson's dresses and left in the bathtub. She'd screamed bloody murder at the sight, after all she'd only nipped to the toilet.

"No, she's hidden the keys again." He grumbled and she couldn't help but smile at the pout she knew was on his face, "Are you smiling?" He asked and she laughed. He always asked her that, as if he needed to keep checking she was happy.

"Yes, you arse." She told him, leaning against the door, "Can I come out now?"

"John, can I let her out now?" Sherlock shouted at the third person living in the flat.

"I don't know." John shouted back, sounding like he was up in his bedroom, "Did you follow the list?" '_The List?_' she mouthed to herself.

"Not everything. Some of it seemed cliché and I'm positive she wouldn't fall for such manipulative sentimentality." Sherlock explained.

"You know I can hear you, right?" She called out and the pair fell silent for a moment.

"Just let her out, Sherlock!" John told him, coming down the stairs she guessed by the way his voice rose in volume. The sound of a bolt lock opening came from the other side and she opened the door, blinking in surprise at the table laid out with a white table cloth and candles. She turned to look at the door, seeing the lock he must have put on whilst she had been in the bath, then at the man in question who looked absolutely gorgeous in a black suit and white shirt.

"What's going on?" She asked quietly.

"It has been pointed out to me that for two people in an exclusive romantic relationship that we haven't been participating in normal activities that couples tend to participate in." Sherlock explained.

"Who said that?" She asked, confused because she'd never said anything of the sort. Had she?

"I did." John appeared, buttoning up the cuffs on his shirt, "I'm going out with Greg for some drinks, won't be back until later." He nodded at Sherlock, "He's under strict instructions to not insult or be condescending at any point, and to keep the murder talk down to a minimum." She frowned, looking from John to Sherlock.

"I'm confused. Why are you doing this?" She asked him.

"Apparently it is romantic." Sherlock told her. John patted her on the arm.

"Have fun." He told her, disappearing out the door. She watched him go, still confused before shaking her head and walking up to Sherlock.

"Right, now he's gone, tell me the truth." She told him, "Why are you doing this? I mean, it's sweet of you, but it's like, you know, a date."

"Are we not dating?" He asked her and she nodded.

"Yeah, we are, I suppose." She replied, "Okay, I'll try and rephrase that. It's all very normal for you." She settled on and he nodded.

"It does seems rather mundane." He told her bluntly, "But it is an appropriate way for me to ensure you do not run into the arms of a sexy Irishman." Her face broke out into a grin that seemed to confuse him more, "Why are you grinning?"

"Because, for someone who has such an extraordinary brain, you can be a right moron sometimes." She replied before placing her hands on her hips, "Right, here is my counter proposal. We play Mario Kart, and I promise not to run off with any other sexy men, Irish or otherwise?" He nodded.

"Deal." He told her, walking off towards his bedroom, but she stopped him.

"_But,_" She drawled, "You have to keep the suit on."

"Why?" He exclaimed in annoyance. He hated the suit, made him feel like a child at a wedding.

"Because it makes me smile." He narrowed his eyes at her and she smirked triumphantly, her tongue behind her teeth as she pulled her ace out.

"Fine." He muttered, storming into the living room, "Your dress is hanging in my closet." She frowned.

"Wait, what dress?" She cried.

_~0~0~0~_

John came home to find the pair on the sofa together, Sherlock in his suit and Faye in the blue and white dress Molly had helped him pick out of her. Faye was curled up against his side, eyes closed and Gamecube controller grasped loosely in her hand. The television had been wheeled over and Sherlock had his arm wrapped protectively around her waist, stopping her from potentially slipping onto the floor.

"Did she enjoy dinner?" John whispered, not wanting to wake her up and Sherlock shook his head.

"She suggested that we should play Mario Kart instead." He explained, "It was a much more preferable idea than having a candle lit meal whilst making small talk."

"I told you she'd prefer that." John pointed out, "I don't know why you didn't just listen to me in the first place."

"You said I should be more romantic. Dates are supposed to be romantic." Sherlock reasoned.

"Yes, but she's going out with you." John replied, "If she wanted something normal and romantic, she wouldn't be." Sherlock glanced down at her again.

"Why is she, John?" He asked and John sat on the coffee table, surprised at how much of a vulnerable question that was. Sherlock would ask him about human behaviour, something he was still getting to grasps with.

"Me and Greg have been asking that all night." John told him and Sherlock shot him a dirty look, "But if you question it, it'll never work. She's happy, you're as happy as you can be. Just roll with it."

"Just roll with it?" Sherlock repeated, "Thank god you're not a psycologist. That's terrible advise." John rolled his eyes in exasperation, standing up.

"Look, she's not going anywhere anytime soon." John told him, "Just enjoy it." He stormed off to his bedroom and Sherlock tightened his grip around her waist before gently shaking her awake.

"Mary, wake up." He murmured into her ear and she shook her head.

"No." She protested and he chuckled deeply.

"I want you to sing for me." She sat up, slightly groggily to stare at him in confusion.

"Why?" She asked. He'd been acting strange all evening, and it was starting to concern her.

"Because singing makes you happy, and I want you to smile again." He told her. She smiled warmly at him, not even trying to be romantic and succeeding at it.

"Fine." She told him, settling back down into his side.


	38. The Start

_Sorry about the lack of update yesterday :( I hope this one was worth the wait. Thank you all so much, every alert I get off this website makes me feel fantastic, even when I feel ill :)_

_~0~0~0~_

John shot the builder a slightly confused look, before following him into the building and up to his flat. The fact there was some random man working on their building and the strange envelope filled with crumbs were not the strangest things to happen that day, and he was going to get to the bottom of that one.

"Sherlock, something weird..." He trailed off, spotting Lestrade and Donovan in the living room, Sherlock pacing and Faye sat at the desk, "What's going on?"

"Kidnapping." Sherlock retorted, nudging Faye out of the way. She stood up to let him type on the laptop but he pulled her onto his knee as he did. Donovan shot Lestrade a surprised look, but the man wasn't even phased.

"Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador to the U.S." The DI explained to John as he headed over to the group.  
"He's in Washington, isn't he?" John pointed out.

"Not him – his children, Max and Claudette, age seven and nine." Donovan flashed him a file with some photographs of the two children, "They're at St Aldate's."

"Posh boarding place down in Surrey." Donovan elaborated and John nodded in understanding.

"The school broke up; all the other boarders went home – just a few kids remained, including those two." Lestrade explained, turning back to Sherlock.

"The kids have vanished." Donovan added.

"The ambassador's asked for you personally." Sherlock pushed Faye out of the way again, grabbing his coat and heading to the door.

"The Reichenbach Hero." Donovan called after him sarcastically and Faye frowned angrily.

"Who are you, again?" She snapped and Lestrade shook his head in exasperation.

"Newbarns." He said in warning and she shot Donovan a dirty look before storming out. She followed Sherlock into the back of an unmarked police car. John joined them shortly afterwards, Faye squashed in the middle of the pair in the tiny little seat with the useless seatbelt. Donavon climbed in the passenger seat and finally Greg climbed in, filling the car completely.

"Is it not bad enough _he_ has to come with us?" Donovan hissed, "Now we have to bring his girlfriend as well?" She yelled in surprise and slight pain, her head snapping around as something very hard hit her in the back. John stifled a laugh as Faye settled her leg back into the space provided, her knee stinging as she glared openly at the other woman.

"I can let her out, if you so wish, Detective Sergeant." Sherlock told her, "But I shall be going with her and you will have to explain to the ambassador why you were the cause of his request not being forfilled by the country where his children were kidnapped."

"In other words, keep your mouth shut Donovan." Lestrade added before speeding away. John turned to Faye, knowing that even trying to talk to Sherlock while he was in 'work mode' would just be a waste of time.

"Did you know Mycroft has an office in some strange, Victorian gentleman's club?" Faye nodded.

"Oh, the Diogenes Club?" She asked and he nodded, "Yeah, it's a horrid place. I'm sure he only stays there so he can say he does." She frowned, "Why do you know he goes there?"

"Oh, I was abducted at a cash machine and taken there. Apparently the world population of assassins have moved onto our street."

"Wait, what?" She exclaimed, "Why is that?"

"He thinks it's something to do with Moriarty." He explained and Faye nodded.

"No, no I get that." She told him, "Why do _you_ know and not me? I mean, I know why he wouldn't just tell Sherlock, but he's never not told me before."

"Will you two shut up?" Sherlock snapped, angry at their constant twittering. Faye's eyes narrowed and she smacked him hard on the arm. He stared at her in surprise, holding his arm where he was sure a bruise would appear.

"Manners, Sherlock!" She scolded and he sighed, nodding slightly.

"Will you two _please_ shut up?" He muttered and she nodded, turning to John and holding her finger to her lips.

"We'll talk about it later." She told John in a whisper before settling back into her seat and closing her eyes. Inside she was torn between being incredibly angry and incredibly hurt. Why had Mycroft taken John and not her? It wouldn't be the first time he'd have to sneak her into the Diogenes Club, she'd been a few times over the years even though she wasn't allowed because of her genitalia. And he didn't even have to take her there, he could have told her in the car or at his house. The more she thought about it, the less he seemed to have been around lately. Her breathing sped up slightly as she began to panic. Was he mad at her? Had she done something wrong? She barely rang him because it'd become pretty apparent years ago that he'd always be too busy when she'd ring him, so it was best to let him get in touch when he had the time. Oh god, the last time she'd seen him had been with her mum. Had the stupid woman said something to upset him? Maybe he'd decided her mother was right and thought Faye was taking advantage of him. She needed to talk to him, needed to apologise, beg him not to...

"Mary," Sherlock's velvety voice filtered through her thoughts and her eyes shot open, her breath catching quietly in her throat, "calm down, I'm sure Mycroft had a perfectly good reason to contact John instead of you." He whispered into her ear and she realised he'd wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her as close to him as was possible in the small space, "He probably thought John was more mentally stable to handle the information than you." She giggled, amused rather than offended at the attack on her state of mental health.

"Yes, okay." She conceded, leaning on his shoulder.

"Good." He said, louder this time, "Now be quiet. You're thinking entirely too loudly for me to process anything." She elbowed him in the side.

"Manners, again." She told him but fell silent, closing her eyes again as she listened to him think.

_~0~0~0~_

The girl had started screaming. No one knew why, she refused to talk to anyone, but the moment she saw Sherlock she'd started screaming and refused to stop until she'd be reassured he was not going to come near her again. It didn't make any sense, he'd never seen her before and she'd never seen him before. The first he'd heard of her was when Lestrade had turned up with the case, why was she so terrified of him?

He'd left John and Faye staring after him as he climbed into a cab, commanding the driver to head back to Baker Street without them. He immediately regretted it; not only had he found Faye's presence soothing when he was stressed out, it helping to correlate his thoughts, but the outraged look he'd spotted on her face as they'd driven away took away any possibility of the _other_ form of stress relief she was very good at administering. It was too late now. He may have been smart, but he was also very stubborn and wasn't about to tell the taxi driver to drive back and pick her up.

"This is a stunning evening wear set from us here at London Taxi Shopping." He glanced up, glowering at the screen on the back of the driver's seat, where the jewellery advert was playing.  
"Can you turn this off, please?" He asked firmly, but the driver didn't seem to hear him. He sighed in exasperation, pressing the comms. button on the door, "Can you turn this _off_ ..." He demanded, angryer this time. The screen fizzed and crackled, drawing his attention from the unresponsive driver and to the screen and Jim Moriarty appeared, grinning at the camera against a background of cartoon clouds.

"_Hullo. Are you ready for the story?_" He asked in a voice used for children's television, "_This is the story of Sir Boast-a-lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the Round Table. __He was so brave, and so clever that he tamed the wild princess of the land, stealing her away from the Ice Man that had terrorised the kingdom.__B__ut soon the other knights began to grow tired of his stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he'd slain._" Behind him, the blue sky turned to grey and the clouds darkened, "_And soon they began to wonder_." He paused with an over dramatic pondering face, "_'Are Sir Boast-a-lot's stories even true?'_" He shook his head, "_Oh, no. And then even the King began to wonder __if his biggest and bravest knight was telling the truth. The only one who didn't was the princess, who said she'd known him the longest and their love was pure and true._" He grinned widely, then it suddenly fell, "_But eventually even she started to doubt, and she started to wonder if he'd lied to her. It made her sad, and it made her cry._ _But that wasn't the end of Sir Boast-a-lot's problem. No. That wasn't the final problem. The End._" Sherlock felt himself tense, his teeth baring in terror and fury. So that was Moriarty's plan? Drag his name, his reputation through the mud? Was that it? No, it was more than that.

_The only one who didn't was the princess._

He wanted him to burn, he wanted to tear apart his world. He wanted to force her to change her mind, make her believe he was lying to her. He couldn't let that happen!

"Stop the cab! _Stop the cab!" _He practically screamed and the cab turned a corner, pulling up near the kerb, "What _was_ that?" He demanded, diving out of the door and up to the driver's side, "What _was_ that?" His eyes widened as the cloth-cap wearing cabbie turned to face him, revealing that he'd been Moriarty all along.

"No charge." He told him in a distinctly London accent before pulling away. Sherlock tried to hold on, desperately wanting to keep him in his grasp but the cab was too fast, leaving him to chase it down. He stopped, seeing it as a losing battle and paused, panting in the middle of the street.

"Look out!" He was suddenly tackled by a large, bald man, who pushed him off the street and onto the pavement. He fought against his attacker for a moment, blinded by anger at Moriarty before realising the man had actually saved his life from an oncoming car. He took a deep breath, letting go of the man's chest as he pinned him to a lamp post and held it out as a peace offering.

"Thank you." He told him sincerely. The man shook his hand, and then was shot dead by three gun shots that rang through the streets, startling him even more. He glanced around frantically, trying to find the gunman, but couldn't spot anyone. Another cab pulled up and two people scrambled out.

"Sherlock!" Faye shouted, worried sick over the man as he stood over what appeared to be a dead body. Sherlock spun on his heels and spotted her, rushing over and meeting her in the middle of the road and she ran over to him. He pulled her into a kiss, fisting her hair in one hand as he tried to hold her as close as possible, an all-consuming need to know she was there washing over him. Obviously distressed, she gave him exactly what he needed as John checked over the body, confirming the man was dead on the ground.

"Don't leave my side." He whispered out, face buried in her hair, "Don't cry, please." He could feel her trembling in his grasp, but he didn't care. She wasn't hurt, she was just worried about him and as long as she was worried she still cared. He could handle her being worried, he just didn't want to think about what Moriarty would do to make her cry. He wasn't going to let her get hurt, no one was going near her again. He was going to protect her always, even if it meant destroying himself in the process.


	39. The Doubt

_Hope you like it :)_

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock dashed around the room, checking for... whatever he was looking for. He'd dragged poor Mrs Hudson up from her bedroom without letting her get dressed just to see when she'd cleaned last. She shouldn't have been cleaning in the first place, in Faye's opinion but she knew it made them both happy so she didn't say anything, just pulled the flustered woman into a side-hug, rubbing her arm reassuringly.

"What's he on about?" The landlady asked but she just shrugged. John's reaction was pretty much the same, no one knew why he was climbing up onto the side tables, trying to get a better view of the top of the bookshelves.

"Cameras. We're being watched." He told them and Mrs Hudson gasped.

"What? Cameras?" She exclaimed, "Here? I'm in my nightie!" The doorbell rang and Mrs Hudson scurried out of the room.

"Sherlock, we've had sex in here!" She exclaimed, "Are you telling me people were watching?!" John cringed.

"Serious did not need to know that!" He exclaimed, storming out after Mrs Hudson. Sherlock climbed down off the table, checking the eye socket of the skull he kept on the mantelpiece before trying the other side of the fireplace, checking the shelving there.

"The only people who care about our sexual exploits is us." He told her, spotting a book that had been moved more recently than when he'd last touched it. He pushed it out of the way, revealing a small camera stuck to the top side of the bookshelf.

"That's not the point, Sherlock!" She exclaimed, "I don't want people to see..." She sighed as he shot her a confused look, "All right, do you really want people seeing me that exposed?" She tried calmly and he paused.

"Okay, I can see why you're distressed." He conceded, "I wouldn't worry, this camera has not been here long, and we've not had sex in this room for a couple of weeks."

"Again, please stop talking about that around me!" John groaned as he entered the room again, following Lestrade as he strode in.

"Sorry, John." She shot him a soft smile.

"No, Inspector." Sherlock declared as he pulled the camera off the shelf.

"What?" Greg asked, surprised by the greeting.

"The answer's no." Sherlock clarified, stepping down with the camera in hand.

"But you haven't heard the question!" Lestrade protested and Sherlock paused, hands by his side as he stared calmly at the Detective Inspector.

"You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking."

"Wait, what?" Faye exclaimed as John looked thrown by the deduction, "Why?"

"Sherlock ..." Lestrade started, trying to explain his side.

"The scream?" Sherlock interrupted and Lestrade nodded with a sigh.

"Yeah." He admitted, hating that he thought this way. But it made sense, why else would the girl scream?

"Hold on, you think he did kidnapped the children?!" Faye exclaimed, looking between the two men, "That's ridiculous! Sherlock, tell him that." She pleaded as Sherlock looked Lestrade over.

"Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping?" He looked off to the side, looking almost impressed, "Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head; that little nagging sensation. You're gonna have to be strong to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home ..." He reached forward, placed his finger on Lestrade's forehead and pressed firmly, "there." He turned away and walked towards the window. To his credit, Lestrade didn't flinch, although Faye did. His showing off didn't normally bother her, in fact sometimes it was downright sexy, but when they were seriously considering him the main suspect of a kidnapping? He had to stop it.

"Will you come?" Lestrade asked firmly as Sherlock sat down at the laptop and started typing furiously, "One photograph – that's his next move. Moriarty's game: first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch." He picked up the tiny camera, spinning in his fingers for a moment as he thought about what it could all possibly be pointing to, before looking up at Lestrade, "It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I'm willing to play." He turned back to the computer, "Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan." Lestrade sighed in frustration and headed out the door, shooting Faye a smile that she tried to return but really didn't feel like giving. Sherlock linked up to the camera feed, his face now projected on the screen. Frustrated, John stormed over to watch Lestrade and Donovan climb back into their car and drive away. Not really knowing what to do, Faye walked over and knelt down gently by the side of the desk chair, resting on her heels and trying not to disturb him as he typed away. He glanced up, seeing John staring outside, then back down at her. She leant her head against his arm, placing a quick kiss on his bicep to show she wasn't going anywhere before looking up and sending him the biggest smile she could, the one he continuously tried to make her pull.

"They'll be deciding." He told John, suitably reassured of her opinion about the kidnapping, going back to trying to hack into the camera's previous footage to try and work out what Moriarty had left behind.

"Deciding?" John asked, not taking his eyes off the street.

"Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me." He turned around, surprised Sherlock had just come out and said it.

"You think?" He pressed and Sherlock nodded.

"Standard procedure."

"Should have gone with him." John told him, "People'll think ..."

"I don't care what people think." Sherlock interrupted in a snarl.

"You'd care if they thought you were stupid," John pointed out, "or wrong."

"No, that would just make _them_ stupid or wrong." Sherlock retorted, not looking up from the screen.

"Sherlock, I don't want the world believing you're ..." John stopped himself, not able to finish the sentence and Sherlock stopped what he was doing, eyes gleaming in challenge as he looked John straight in the eye.

"That I am what?" He snapped and John took a deep breath.

"A fraud." There, he'd said it. Sherlock leant back in his chair, like he was physically wounded by the accusation. The fact that John had even thought that people might believe that, meant the doubt was in his mind too.

"You're worried they're right." Sherlock stated and John blinked in surprise.

"What?"

"You're worried they're right about me." Sherlock clarified and John shook his head.

"No." He replied instantly.

"That's why you're so upset. You can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right.

You're afraid that you've been taken in as well." John shook his head, unable to look him in the eye as he tried to deny it. He didn't believe Sherlock was a fraud. He knew he wasn't, he'd lived day-to-day with the man, he'd seen him work. There was no way that level of detail could be faked.

"No I'm not." Sherlock leant forward in his chair, his face contorted in fury.

"Moriarty is playing with your mind too. Can't you _see,_" He slammed his hand down on the desk, "what's going on?"

"That's _enough_, Sherlock!" Faye exclaimed, having sat there silently and watched him push and prod John. She pushed herself up, still on her knees but sitting straighter as she grabbed his other arm and twisted him to look at her, "I know you don't understand, so I'm going to explain it very carefully and you_ will_ listen to me, okay?" He didn't nod, or reply but his face relaxed slightly, "Me and John care about you, probably a lot more than we should and much more sexually than John would like to feel about you." John opened his mouth to protest but she held her hand up, silencing him, "But we do care about you. This doubt that Moriarty is putting in people's minds isn't just an attack on you, it's an attack on all three of us and neither of us are going to sit back and let them spread vicious lies about you.

"We will get defensive, and you may not think it important but _you are important to us_. Whether it is true or not is irrelevant, we cannot allow people to talk about you like that and not retaliate." He sat back, watching her explain with a thoughtful frown on his face. Her eyes shone with the conviction she spoke with, making her much more convincing, "That's what John is angry about, not the fact you may have lied, it's the fact people are saying that about you in the first place. You can't belittle that. I won't let you." He leant forward, his eyes widening as she blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek.

_It made her sad, and it made her cry._

John turned away from the pair as Sherlock reached out and cupped her face with one hand, using his thumb to wipe away the tear track. It felt too personal, too intimate for him to be watching, his best friend who was normally so guarded and detached being so connected with someone else.

"Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick _all_ the time." He added as he looked out of the window, wanting to remind them he was there and Faye set off in a fit of giggles, the two men smiling in relief that she was smiling again.


	40. The Three Fugitives

Mrs Hudson dashed off to answer the door, John still looking at the burnt gingerbread man in his hands. The police sirens filled the room, flashing blue lights illuminating the wall.

"Sherlock!" Donovan shouted from downstairs, "We need to talk to you!" John and Sherlock looked gazes for a moment before John put the gingerbread man back into the envelope, discarding it to one side as he rushed down the stairs after their landlady. Faye watched him go with wide eyes, panic rising into her throat and she turned to face Sherlock.

"Sherlock, what do we do?" She begged, terrified over the fact that they were _still there._ Why weren't they running? He stepped up in front of her, taking her face in both of his hands. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, a sad smile appearing on his face as he looked her deep in the eyes.

"Don't barge in like that!" Mrs Hudson scolded the officers downstairs.

"Sherlock?" She whimpered as the footsteps began echoing up the stairwell.

"It will be okay." He told her, promised her before leaning forward, placing a very tender and very short kiss on her forehead, then he was letting her go.

"Have you got a warrant? Have you?" John demanded angrily as Faye shook her head, her chest aching, painfully hopeless as Sherlock picked up his scarf, looping it around his neck.

"Please, Sherlock." She begged, "We can still run!" He ignored her as he picked up his coat, pulling it on and flicking up the collar.

_~0~0~0~_

"Sherlock Holmes, I'm arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping." Lestrade recited as they watched an officer take Sherlock's left hand and cuff it to his right wrist behind his back.

"Greg, please." Faye begged, sobbing violently as John held her at his side, visibly fuming, "Please, stop it!" John gestured angrily at Sherlock.

"He's not resisting." He snapped ad Sherlock shook his head minutely.

"It's all right, John." He murmured, pointedly ignoring Faye. He couldn't look at her, John knew why but his coldness wasn't helping her.

"He's not resisting. No, it's _not_ all right." He squeezed her tighter, "What's the point? You're just upsetting her more! This is ridiculous." Lestrade glanced at the pair, the defending friend and the heartbroken woman before nodding at the officer.

"Get him downstairs now." He commanded and Sherlock was marched out of the door, his head held high. Faye shrugged John off, rushing over to the window and pushing her hands against the window as she watched them pin him against on of the police cars. This couldn't actually be happening. Why didn't he run, why was he falling into line? This didn't make any sense, she thought to herself as she John and Greg had a little moment behind her.

"Oh, I said it." She tensed, not turning around as Donovan _had_ to get her piece in.

"Mmm-hmm?" John replied, thoroughly baited by her.

"First time we met." She elaborated and he shook his head.

"Don't bother." He warned, incredulous at her gloating.

"'Solving crimes won't be enough. One day he'll cross the line.' Now, ask yourself: what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them?"

"Donovan." Faye watched in the reflection as a large, fat, northern man stepped into the room and Donovan instantly straightened up, intimidated.

"Sir." She nodded.

"Got our man?" He asked and Donovan nodded again, looking chastised.

"Er, yes, sir."

"Looked a bit of a _weirdo_, if you ask me." He strode purposefully around the room, pulling John's attention and anger towards him, "Often are, these vigilante types." He spotted John glaring at him, "What are _you_ looking at?" Faye had to hide her laugh of pure pleasure with a fake sob as John pulled back, punching the man straight in the nose with a satisfying crunch. Donovan was shouting down the stairs, and then John was being carted off by his own pair of officers. Donovan turned to John as he was marched out.

"You shouldn't defend that freak." She snapped, something in Faye breaking as she went rigid at the insult, "He's insane." John didn't reply as he was lead down the stairs. Faye spun on her heels, forcing a sob out. Donovan shot her a look, as if remembering she was there.

"I can't... I can't believe Sherlock would do this." She sobbed, not completely lying. Why was Sherlock being arrested, why was he allowing himself to be taken away and charged for something he didn't do?

Donovan shot her a sympathetic look, the mutual experience of being let down by a significant man pulling on her sympathetic side and she stepped forward to comfort the heartbroken woman.

"It must be difficult to have to finally admit." She offered and Faye nodded, Mrs Hudson looking at her confused, not believing for a second Faye felt that way.

"I just..." she trailed off, a sob caught in her throat, "I keep seeing things differently." She looked at Mrs Hudson, looking like she was deliberating, before turning back to Donovan, "Can I..." She pointed to the hallway, shooting the woman a significant look, which Donovan instantly recognised as an opportunity to get more dirt on Sherlock Holmes. She nodded eagerly and Faye motioned for her to leave first. On her way out she shot Mrs Hudson a smirk and a wink, confusing the older woman even more. She stopped at the top of the stairs, looking down with a hand over her mouth as if stifling her crying.

"It's okay, you know?" Donovan tried to reassure her, "He's a bad man, any information you offer us is not a betrayal or wrong. Men like him need putting away." Faye nodded.

"It's just. If I..." She sniffed, Donovan leaning in to offer her support. An angry smirk caused Faye's whole face to change and she turned to look her straight in the eyes, "If I ever hear you call Sherlock a freak again, I will kill you." And she reached out, placed two hands on Donovan's shoulders and shoved.

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock had not bee surprised in the slightest when John was slammed into the car next to him and handcuffed to him, the sight of the Chief Superintendent with a bloody nose telling him everything he needed to know. He was, however, startled when Faye was then slammed into car on his other side. She smirked at her two boys as she was handcuffed to Sherlock's left wrist.

"What? Can't I join in on the fun?" She teased.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock hissed, furious she was there and she shrugged.

"Oh, I pushed Donovan down the stairs." She nodded behind her and Donovan was helped out of the building, limping and glaring daggers at the trio. John barked out a laugh, much like the one she'd suppressed at his own heroics.

"That was incredibly moronic." Sherlock snapped and she nodded.

"If you're going to keep the plan from me, I'm going to gatecrash it." She murmured out the side of her mouth, "Together or not at all, Sherlock. You don't have the choice. What do we do?" His eyes darted around, a plan forming quickly and he reached into the cop car, pressing the button on the side of the mouthpiece for the radio system, pushing it against a discarded earpiece. A loud shrieking noise attacked the ears of all the officer's wearing them and he used his hand attached to Faye to grab a gun out of the pocket of the closest officer, cocking it and pointing it at the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?" He demanded. No one moved and he shot twice in the air, causing Faye to flinch in shock out of the way, "_NOW_ would be good!"

"Do as he says!" Greg called, leading by example and kneeling on the floor. The rest of team followed orders and Sherlock quickly switched the hand the gun was in, backing up into Faye to make her move.

"Just-just so you're aware, the gun is his idea." John declared loudly, "We're just... you know..."

"My hostages." Sherlock interrupted, pointed the gun straight at John's temple.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?!" Faye hissed, alarmed at the very sudden turn of events. Why was he running from the police _now?_

"Hostages! Yes, that works – _that_ works." John muttered as they continued to back away, around the corner, "So what now?"

"Doing what Moriarty wants – I'm becoming a fugitive." Sherlock explained, answering Faye's earlier question, "Run." He pulled John and Faye away, taking off in a sprint they could barely keep up with. He chucked the gun to the ground, linking his fingers into Faye's and gripping onto her tightly. He then used his other hand to loop the chain from his and John's handcuffs around his wrist a couple of times.

"Take my hand!" He commanded John, who did what he said.

"Now people will _definitely_ talk." John exclaimed and Faye laughed, the adrenaline from the situation making her giddy.

"Maybe when we're out the other side, we'll all finally sleep together!" John stared at her slack-jawed and she shot him a saucy wink as Sherlock pulled them into an alleyway.  
_  
_


	41. Richard Brook

_Better late than never, eh? XD_

_~0~0~0~_

Kitty Riley headed home from another long, arduous day at the office. Another day of being overlooked, but not for much longer. She'd handed in her tell-all on the so called 'consulting detective' who'd turned her down so viciously. Tomorrow, it would be printed and she'd finally be taken seriously. She opened the front door on the old house that held her flat within, stepping in and letting is shut behind her. She headed to her personal front door and frowned, seeing it open. Her heart immediately dropped in dread. Someone had broken in. She tentatively pushed it open, turning the light on in the dark room and revealing Sherlock Holmes, Faye Newbarns and John Watson on her sofa, Faye and Sherlock squeezed into the two seater and John perched on the arm. Sherlock glanced over and smirked.

"Too late to go on the record?" He asked.

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock 'borrowed' a hairpin off the journalist, quickly removing the handcuff from Faye's wrist before working on his own. The handcuffs fell onto the sofa and he turned to his other wrist, unlocking himself from John was much easier with the correct hand.

"Congratulations. The truth about Sherlock Holmes." He handed the hairpin to John, allowing his friend to unlock himself as he stood, grabbing Faye's wrist, checking the marks that the handcuffs had left there. His were going to bruise, and looking at her skin, hers were as well, "The scoop that everybody wanted and you got it. Bravo." Kitty looked at him, confused by his attitude.

"I gave you your opportunity." She reminded him, "I wanted to be on your side, remember? You turned me down, so..."

"And then, behold, someone turns up and spills all the beans. How _utterly_ convenient." He remarked before letting Faye's wrist go, turning to face Kitty, "Who is Brook?" He asked her, seeing if she actually knew where her information was coming from. She shook her head minutely, not offering anything but he wasn't surprised. The stupidity of the masses never surprised him, "Oh, come on, Kitty. No-one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone. There are all those furtive little meetings in cafés; those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbled into your dictaphone. How do you know that you can trust him? A man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pockets. What were his credentials?" He demanded, wondering once again how anyone could be _that_ stupid. Faye stood up, walking over to him as he glared furiously down at the ginger woman. She placed a hand on his arm.

"Sherlock..." She started, wanting him to calm down a little bit when the door opened. Kitty looked at it in concern, standing up as Moriarty joined them, looking rough around the edges and carrying a carrier bag.

"They didn't have any ground coffee so I just got normal ..." He caught sight of the three and practically scrambled away in terror from them, holding his hands up in defence, "You said that they wouldn't find me here. You said that I'd be safe here." He exclaimed in panic and Kitty smiled reassuringly at him.

"You _are_ safe, Richard. I'm a witness. He wouldn't harm you in front of witnesses." She told him firmly. Sherlock stared at him in horror, barely registering Faye clinging to his arm in fright.

"So _that's_ your source?" John exclaimed, pointing at Moriarty, "You actually think he's Richard Brook?"

"Of _course_ he's Richard Brook." Kitty replied, "There _is_ no Moriarty. There never _has_ been."

"Don't be stupid!" Faye snapped, "_He_ is Moriarty!"

"Look him up. Rich Brook – an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty." Kitty continued, ignoring her. She knew what Sherlock had put the poor woman through, she didn't feel angry at her exclamation.

"Doctor Watson, I know you're a good man. Don't ... don't h... Don't hurt me." Moriarty begged, holding his hands up in surrender. John shook his head, almost foaming at the mouth he was so angry and bewildered.

"No, you are Moriarty! He's Moriarty! We've _met_, remember? _You were gonna blow me up!_" He exclaimed. Moriarty shook his head.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. He paid me. I needed the work. I'm an actor. I was out of work. I'm sorry, okay?" He explained. John took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down but he didn't take his eyes off the man who was pushing himself against the wall in fear.

"Sherlock, you'd better ... explain ... because I am not getting this." John demanded.

"John, he's lying!" Faye insisted, stepping towards her confused and anxious friend, "He is Moriarty, you have to believe it." Moriarty stepped forward, towards her, hands stretched out.

"Mary, it's okay." He tried to reassure her and she blinked, stepping back. Sherlock felt like reaching over, strangling the man, shaking him until he stopped breathing. Mary was _his_ name. How dare he use it! Address her like he _knew_ her.

"My name is Faye." She snarled, glaring ferociously at him and obviously echoing Sherlock's anger, "You don't call me anything else, do you understand?"

"It's okay." He tried again, "She knows, soon the whole world will know and we can be together again." She let out a laugh in disbelief, "We can finally get married, we have the money now."

"I'm sorry?" She screamed, "Marry you? What the hell are you on about?!" She stormed back over to Sherlock, "Can you please explain to me what the hell is going on, because I'm really freaked out right now." He placed a hand on her arm, squeezing it once but he never took his eyes off Moriarty. He was almost impressed with the way he was keeping up his act, never wavered, always looking so terrified of him.

"Oh _I'll_ ... I'll be doing the explaining – in print." Kitty picked up a binder, handing it to John, "It's all here – conclusive proof." He flipped through, seeing the mock-up of the article she was having printed, just as it was going to appear in the newspaper, "You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis."

"Invented him?" John repeated, upset and confused. That can't be right, could it? The man haditty strapped a bomb to him, of course it wasn't right. No one did that for a _job_.

"Mmm-hmm. Invented all the _crimes_, actually – and to cap it all, you made up a master villain." Kitty explained, feeling incredibly smug that she had gotten one over the 'great' Sherlock Holmes, the man who'd ridiculed and insulted her.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Faye retorted, "I thought journalists were supposed to be smart!"

"_Ask_ him. He's right here! Just ask him. Tell him, Richard." Kitty commanded gently. Still only addressing John, believing Faye was on Moriarty's side. It made her insides crawl.

"Look, for God's sake, this man was on _trial_!" John exclaimed.

"Yes," She pointed at Sherlock, "and you paid him; paid him to take the rap. Promised you'd rig the jury. Not exactly a West End role, but I'll bet the money was good. You even took his girlfriend, made her act as your own so people would feel sorry for you. Then you leaked her life into the papers." Kitty turned to Faye, "It's okay now, Mary. You're safe." Faye stared, clinging to Sherlock and shaking.

"My name is Faye." She insisted shakily, "Stop it. Why are you saying this?" She sobbed and Sherlock's blood boiled as Moriarty stared at her, pleading her.

"I _am_ sorry. I _am_. I _am_ sorry." He repeated, "Please, Mary..."

"It's Faye!" She shouted, turning away from him and burying her face into Sherlock's bicep. Why did so many people have to know about Mary? Why was Moriarty bringing her into his fight?

"So-so this is the story that you're gonna publish. The big conclusion of it all: Moriarty's an actor?!" John asked, shaking his head incredulously. This had to be some kind of joke.

"He _knows_ I am. I have proof. I have proof. Show him, Kitty! Show him something!" Moriarty begged, almost in tears as Kitty nodded, running to the coffee table. Moriarty rubbed his eyes, locking them with Sherlock for just a moment who suddenly smirked, seeing exactly how this was going to go.

"Yeah, _show_ me something." John scoffed.

"I'm on TV. I'm on kids' TV. I'm The Storyteller. I'm ... I'm The Storyteller. It's on DVD." Moriarty looked at Faye, looking proud as John snatched the documents from Kitty, flicking through all of Richard Brook's identification, "We can finally get a flat, maybe even a little house." Moriarty said hopefully and she shook her head.

"Shut up!" She snapped, "Stop it, now!" John flicked to another page, seeing a picture of a young teenage girl in a school uniform. He frowned for a moment, barely recognising her. He called Faye's name and she looked over as he spun it around. She gaped at it, rushing over and ripping it out of his hands. That was just weeks before she'd left that school behind, she'd been walking home and her dad had snapped the picture as she headed into her house's garden. She crumpled it in her hands, seeing the depth this charade was going. Moriarty was going to destroy Sherlock by being the guy who he hired to act out the 'fantasy'. And he was going to use her to seal the deal. A fake girlfriend for a fake man. She stormed over, waving the picture in the air.

"Where did you get this?" She shouted at Moriarty, "There are _no_ pictures of her left! Where did you get it?!"

"You gave it to me." He explained, begging her to agree, "Please Mary..."

"I am not Mary!" She screamed. Moriarty reached out, his fingers barely brushing against her arm when Sherlock snapped, stepping forward, ready to kill the man for touching her. He had no right to lay a _finger _on her.

"Don't you touch me! Don't you lay a finger on me!" Moriarty exclaimed, Sherlock stilling as he crawled onto the stairs behind him, shaking in terror.

"Stop it. _Stop it NOW!_" Sherlock screamed and Moriarty turned, fleeing up the stairs and into the hallway. Sherlock took off after him, John close on his heels as Kitty tried to slow them down. Faye stood, staring at the picture of Mary, that one snapshot of her life showing her that she would never be free of who she once was. She'd never be allowed to be Faye. The world continued to force her to go back.


	42. Just the Two

Sherlock left them. He had obviously come to some sort of epiphany and taken off, saying he had to do something alone. Faye chewed her thumbnail, probably looking as worried as she felt as she watched him change from his normal stride to a jog, to a run. He'd been so worried, so protective over her just moments ago, and now he was just leaving her behind. John stared, bewildered and enraged in equal measure.

"Why would he just leave?" She whimpered, the 'without me' implied but never said. John shook his head.

"I don't know." He went to follow him before his own epiphany and turning, "But I know who will. Come on." He held his hand out for her, and she took it, letting him lead her down the street.

_~0~0~0~_

Mycroft headed into the Diogenes club, briefcase in one hand and umbrella in the other. It was quite late in the evening, and he had paperwork to do that couldn't wait for the drive home. He headed through the darkened common room, into his office, his hand pausing on the door handle when he spotted the top of John Watson's head as he sat in one of the armchairs there. The office had a beautiful furniture set, two arm chairs and a sofa that complimented the grandeur the club liked the portray.

"She has _really_ done her homework, Miss Riley – things that only someone close to Sherlock could know." John declared, looking at the article the journalist was going to publish.

"Ah." Was all Mycroft replied as he shut the door.

"Have you _seen_ your brother's address book lately? Two names: yours and mine, and Moriarty didn't get this stuff from me." John replied pointedly. Mycroft headed to the arm chair directly across from him, sitting down, umbrella still in hand.

"John ..."

"So how does it work," John interrupted, "then, your relationship? D'you go out for a coffee now and then, eh, you and Jim? Your own brother, and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac." He was barely able to control the anger streaming through his veins, it was only the desperate need to find out _why _that kept him from attacking Mycroft there and then.

"I never inten... I never dreamt ..." Mycroft floundered, just cementing his guilt in John's mind.

"So _this._.. th-this..." He paused for a moment, looking back at the papers in his hand as he tried to calm down and pull together his thoughts, "is what you were trying to tell me, isn't it: _'__Watch his back, 'cause I've made a mistake.__'_" He slammed the papers down on a small table by his chair, leaning back and clearing his throat, "How did you meet him?"

"People like him: we know about them; we watch them." Mycroft explained, "But James Moriarty ... the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, and in his pocket the ultimate weapon: a keycode. A few lines of computer code that could unlock _any_ door."

"And you abducted him to try and find the keycode?" John guessed and Mycroft nodded once.

"Interrogated him for weeks." Mycroft confirmed.

"And?" John prompted when he didn't offer any more information.

"He wouldn't play along." Mycroft explained, "He just sat there, staring into the darkness. The only thing that made him open up," He motioned to himself, "_I_ could get him to talk just a little, but_..._" He trailed off and John nodded angrily.

"In return you had to offer him Sherlock's life story. So one big lie – Sherlock's a fraud – but people _will_ swallow it because the rest of it's true." He leant forward, "He knew everything about Sherlock and sold it. He knew about Mary Hudson as well. He's claiming she's his girlfriend. I know you went back and wiped her from the books, so how did he know?" Mycroft looked down, decidedly guilty and John laughed, "Oh, of course. Faye's part of his life, ergo you sold her out as well. Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And _you_ have given him the perfect ammunition." Mycroft couldn't deny it and John shook his head, "Your brother and your best friend..." He stood up, heading towards the door, his hands grasping at the papers he'd snatched off the table.

"John..." Mycroft called sadly after him and he paused, turning silently to face him, "I'm sorry." He offered and John sighed.

"Oh, please ..." He shook his head, laughing humourlessly as he headed to the door.

"Tell him, would you?" Mycroft asked almost pleadingly and he paused, hand on the door handle.

"Come on, Faye." He called, heading out the door and leaving it open. Mycroft spun in his chair, alarmed as she stood up slowly from behind the sofa, eyes wide and tears streaming down her face. He hadn't noticed her, the sofa having been giving little if any thought as he'd entered the room. She was shaking, looking devastatingly heartbroken.

"Faye..." He started, standing up and she shook her head.

"He's your _brother_." She whispered, "And you gave him to Moriarty."

"I thought I was doing what was needed." He explained and she shook her head.

"Okay, I can get why you would give him Sherlock." She laughed slightly, "I don't like it, and it makes me sick to think about it, but I can see your twisted, Holmes logic with that one. But why _me_? What did_ I_ ever do?"

"Nothing." He insisted quickly, "Nothing you have ever done would warrant the betrayal I have done." His shoulders sagged, weighed down with his choices and she stepped out into the room.

"I thought you weren't contacting me because you were angry." She told him, her voice hitching, "I thought my mum had made you realise that you were better off without me." His eyes shot up and he shook his head once, one desperate movement.

"Never." He insisted.

"I know." She replied before her eyes narrowed, "It's because you were feeling guilty, wasn't it? You knew this Moriarty thing was coming to a head, and you knew what you'd done." She stalked off towards the door, heading the same way as John. He grabbed her arm in the hope of stopping her leaving.

"Please, Faye..." She yanked her arm away from him.

"You may as well call me Mary." She hissed, "Everyone knows now." She headed out into the street, past the surprised and outraged members and up to John, who quickly pulled her in for a hug, squeezing her tightly as she sobbed her heart out.

Mycroft didn't follow, he didn't know what to do, so he headed to his desk and set about doing his paperwork.

_~0~0~0~_

John sat Faye down on their couch, sitting next to her and wrapping his arm around her, pulling her to lie on him like they had done a thousand times before. They'd managed to sneak in undetected by everyone but Mrs Hudson, who had told them to keep the lights off and she'd keep silent on their whereabouts. The woman was a saint amongst men.

"What's happening, John?" She asked, her tone desperate, "Why is this happening?"

"I don't know." He admitted, "But Sherlock will fix it."

"Why did he leave without us?" _Without me._ She wanted to scream. She just wanted to help him, wanting to give him anything she could in the way of information, or inspiration. She wanted to wrap her arms around his waist, let him know that she did still believe in him. She always would believe in him. Even when the world crumbled, she would believe in Sherlock Holmes.

"We just have to wait." He reassured her, unconsciously tightening his grip on her side, "If he needs us, he'll call. He knows we'll come running." She nodded slowly. He knew that, didn't he? Good, because she would. The moment he'd burst back into her life she knew it would come down to him against everyone else, and she knew she'd be by his side, fighting all the way. There was nothing she wouldn't do for that man. She wrapped an arm around herself, her hand resting on her stomach as she hugged herself tightly.

"But what if he doesn't?" She whispered, "What if Sherlock can't fix this?" John took a deep breath, not wanting to admit it.

"Then we'll go down fighting, yeah?" He asked in reply and she nodded into his chest.

"Yes." She agreed, "Together or not at all." He placed a kiss on the top of her head.

"Together or not at all." He repeated. Then his phone went off in his trouser pocket, vibrating through Faye's side. He stretched, reaching in and pulling it out, flicking to the messages.

"It's Sherlock." He told her, his brows furrowing in confusion, "He's at St Bart's. He wants me to go." He looked down at her, looking apologetic, "He wants me to go alone." He showed her the text – '_St Barts. Come alone. SH_'.

"That... That can't be right." She stuttered,"Maybe he means us, but no police." His phone went off again and he opened the new message – _'That means don't bring Faye. SH'._

"Faye?" She whimpered as she read the text. Not Mary; Faye. He really didn't want her to go. John stood up as she sat up straight, heartbroken. He grabbed his jacket, pulling it on before pausing and kneeling in front of her, taking both her hands in his.

"I'm sure he just wants you to be safe." He reassured her uncertainly, "I'll talk to him, convince him you're better off with us and then I'll call you, okay?" She nodded sadly and he went to place a kiss on her forehead, but with the heavy cloud of foreboding that had fallen over them after recent events, his moved to a quick and gentle brush of his lips against hers, "It will be okay, I promise." She nodded.

"Love you." She whispered and he smiled sadly, running his fingers through her hair before jumping up and leaving her sobbing on the sofa.


	43. The Fall

_Not many chapters left now. Maybe 1 or 2 after this..._

_~0~0~0~_

Faye couldn't just sit there waiting, a million and one scenarios rushing through her her. What if Sherlock was hurt? What if John was hurt? What if Moriarty actually won this? What would happen to Sherlock, to all three of their lives? She couldn't lose him now, after all these years, she actually had him?

What if he didn't want her anymore? He'd left the flat with only a kiss to the forehead when he'd been arrested, and he'd left her behind when he'd run off. Leaving her to follow John to see Mycroft...

She shook her head, refusing to allow herself to think about the older Holmes brother. She needed to distract herself. She tried to go to sleep, but that didn't work very well, even in Sherlock's bed. She thought Sherlock's scent would calm her down, but she started to feel like she was drowning in what it meant, what it could mean and she'd dived out and dashed upstairs to John's bed, which had caused her to wonder how the man got any sleep with the tired old mattress he slept on. She settled on dragging John's quilt downstairs and wrapping her up into a cocoon watching very early morning television, the kind which still had the woman in the corner signing for the hearing impaired. Eventually dawn broke and Mrs Hudson headed up with a couple cups of tea.

"I've brought you both a nice hot cup of tea each." She called as she headed through, "Don't think this is going to last, I'm just the land..." She trailed off, seeing Faye wrapped up and no John in sight, "Are you okay, dear?" Faye shook her head before bursting into quiet, heart wrenching sobs which had Mrs Hudson flustering around her, doing her best to pull the girl into a hug.

_~0~0~0~_

Faye eventually told her the entire story, divulging all of the fears to the patient landlady, who was infinitely easier to talk to than her own mother had ever been. Maybe the Hudson surname had linked them together, somehow? Faye doubted it, that sort of superstitious nonsense had never interested her. Still, she appreciated it all the same when Mrs Hudson placed a plate in front of her with two slices of dry toast on it. They'd moved down into her kitchen.

"I'm sure Sherlock has a bigger plan for you." Mrs Hudson reassured her, sitting on the other side of the table and patted her hand gently, "I know you three have an... unconventional relationship, but anyone can see that boy carries his own, special torch just for you." Faye tried to smile, a grimace falling on her face as she nodded slowly, looking down at the toast. She never corrected Mrs Hudson, unlike John who was constantly insisting they weren't in some polyamorous threesome. It didn't bother her in the slightest, in fact. It made the older woman feel like she was being open and including, so she let her believe it.

"I think so too." Faye admitted, blushing slightly, almost shamed by saying _anyone_ could be attracted to her, "So, why do I have to stay behind. I want to help him, I want to know he's okay. Just because John says he's with him, and he's okay, doesn't make it true." Mrs Hudson nodded sympathetically.

"If something was truly wrong, both John and Sherlock would call you straight away." The doorbell rung and Mrs Hudson stood up, checking the time on the clock on the wall.

"Oh, that'll be the handyman." She explained, "Care to join me upstairs to keep an eye on him?" Faye smiled gently and nodded, leaving her toast untouched as she followed her up the stairs.

_~0~0~0~_

"And I said that her cousin was better off without the filthy old man." Mrs Hudson finished, Faye nodding in agreement. She was extremely grateful for the woman, who had almost completely taken her mind off Sherlock and John's absence, telling her gossip about her friends on the street. The handyman was currently drilling some holes in the wall ready for some new pictures she'd bought to brighten up the hallway.

"I should think so." Faye replied, "She shouldn't settle just because her husband's died. Mrs Patel is a lovely woman, she deserves a man who will look after her and her new hip."

"That's what I told her." The front door burst open, startling the two women, Mrs Hudson letting out a gasp of surprise as John rushed in, looking terribly anxious and worried. So worried that it made Faye's heart tighten painfully.

"Oh, God, John! You made me jump!" Mrs Hudson scolded playfully, a hand on her chest as her heart obviously pounded a little bit faster. John stared at her, confused by the fact she was okay.

"But..." John stuttered, bewildered and Faye reached out, placing a hand on his arm.

"John?" She asked lowly, "Where's Sherlock?"

"Is everything okay now with the police?" Mrs Hudson asked, "Has, um, Sherlock sorted it all out" He stared a little bit longer before his face revealed the horrified realisation he had come to.

"Oh my God." He whispered before running out. Faye yelped, chasing after him with no shoes on, meeting him just up the road as he tried to hail a taxi. They continued to drive past.

"John, what's happening?" She exclaimed worriedly as he tried to catch the eye of any driver.

"Sherlock's doing something incredibly stupid back at the hospital." He told her frantically, "I don't know _what_, but I know it's something stupid." She darted out slightly into the road, causing a taxi to screech to a halt to stop from hitting her. John would have normally told her off for being so reckless, but they were both so focused and getting to Sherlock he just dragged her into the back and told the driver where to go.

"Why did you even leave him?" She asked, not trying to tell him off even though it came out harshly.

"I got a phone call off a police officer telling me Mrs Hudson had been shot." He replied, "Now I think about it, even if the police were behind it, they could have been laying a trap to catch us three. It was stupid, no wonder Sherlock wouldn't come along."

"It's better to be trapped than to leave Mrs Hudson alone if she had been shot." She reassured him as he looked guilty about his choice, "We won't be long, we'll get to the bottom of this." She tried to sound convincing, but she really didn't feel it. He seemed to see that, letting her link hands with him, clinging to him tightly as all her thoughts focused on Sherlock.

_~0~0~0~_

Moriarty was dead. Shot himself in the mouth, cutting off the only chance Sherlock had to save everyone he loved. The snipers were closing in on Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, John and Mary. The only way to get them to stop was for Moriarty to call them off, or... and Moriarty was on the floor, his brain splattered behind them from the force of the impact of the bullet he had inflicted on himself. So that was it. Sherlock panted, stepping away as the blood began to pool on the concrete underneath Moriarty's skull, his eyes darting around for an alternative. He placed his hands on his head, grasping at his hair. He needed a way to stop them, stop them shooting Mary. He couldn't lose her, she couldn't die _again._ Not because of him.

He took a deep breath, as a calmness suddenly fell over him. He stepped onto the ledge of St Bart's roof, looking down as a cab pulled up. He pulled his phone out of his coat pocket and dialled John.

_~0~0~0~_

John slammed the door shut after helping Faye out of the cab, both of them heading swiftly to the hospital entrance as John answered his phone, putting it to his ear.

"Hello?" He asked, practically dragging Faye with him.

"_John._" Sherlock's voice replied.

"Hey, Sherlock, you okay?"

"_Turn around and walk back the way you came now._" Sherlock commanded and John shook his head.

"No, we're coming in." He replied, confused.

"_Just do as I ask. Please._" His voice broke and John paused, "_Take Faye and do as I say._" John stopped, gently pulling a bewildered Faye with him as he headed up the way they'd just come. His head moved from side to side as he tried to spot where Sherlock was.

"Where?" He asked urgently.

"_Stop there._" Sherlock told him after a moments pause and John halted the pair.

"Sherlock?" He asked again, just as Faye screamed his name in abject terror. He turned to her as she stared, horrified up at the rooftop of St Bart's, where Sherlock was stood, his coat blowing the breeze.

"Oh God." John breathed, just as horrified as Faye set off towards the hospital.

"_Stop her!_" Sherlock commanded frantically and John snapped to face where she was heading.

"Faye!" He called, "Come back, he might..." He trailed off as she paused, turning to face him, shaking and desperate to follow Sherlock onto the roof herself. But, she did as she was told, heading over to John, who held the phone up to his ear again, "She's here." He promised.

"_I ... I ... I can't come down,_" Sherlock stuttered, sounding on the brink of tears, "_so we'll ... we'll just have to do it like this._"

"What's going on?" John demanded shakily, his eyes trained on Sherlock's form, a silhouette against the grey skyline.

"_An apology. It's all true._" Sherlock replied and John frowned.

"Wh-what?" He frowned, brows furrowing, not quite understanding what he was saying. Sherlock seemed to be able to understand that.

"_Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty._" He explained and John shook his head in disbelief.

"Why are you saying this?" He demanded.

"_I'm a fake._" Sherlock's voice broke again, John's throat constricting painfully at the noise.

"Sherlock .."

"_The newspapers were right all along._" Sherlock interrupted, "_I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly ... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes._"

"Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up." Faye's breath hitched, tears streaming down her face as John seemed the start crying, "The first time we met ... the _first time we met_, you knew all about my sister, right?"

"_Nobody could be that clever._"

"_You_ could." John insisted and Sherlock let out a breathy laugh.

"_I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you_." The sniff John heard broke his heart, "_It's a trick. Just a magic trick._"

"No. All right, stop it now." He turned to Faye, "Come on." He snarled, storming off in the direction of the entrance again.

"_No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move._" Sherlock pleaded and John growled in frustration at the situation, putting an arm out to stop Faye in her tracts.

"All right." He surrender.

"_Keep your eyes fixed on me._" Sherlock commanded, "_Then pass the phone to Faye._" John nodded, not replying as he held out the phone to Faye. She grabbed it, cradling it in both hands as she pressed it to her ear.

"Sherlock." She sobbed, "Why are you doing this?"

"_Stay with John._" He told her, his voice betraying the fright he was trying to hide from her, "_Promise me, he'll look after you_."

"Why can't you look after me?" She replied, not even bothering to point out she didn't need look after at all, "_I don't understand, please Sherlock. Just come down._" He couldn't do this, could he? She was shaking, visibly shaking as the crying caused her whole body to tremble, "We can fix this together. Nothing that has happened is worth you. Please." She begged. Would actually falling to her knees work? She would beg at his feet if she had to.

"_It's too late._" He replied, "_I'm a fraud. A nobody. It's just a trick, I lied to you Mary._"

"No! I have known you since we were children! Don't bullshit me, Sherlock!" She screamed in frustration before taking a deep breath, "Sherlock, please." She tried again, "Just come down. For me, please." John rubbed her arm, unable to hold her hand as she still grasped the phone tightly to her ear. He could try and make a run for the entrance whilst Sherlock was preoccupied, but if he noticed he'd jump and... Well, that wasn't something John wanted to think about.

"_I never once thought you were ugly._" Sherlock admitted, "_You were and still are the most beautiful thing that ever entered my life. You lit up the grey mundanity of the universe, you were the reason I even tried to do anything. I'm sorry that you ever thought otherwise._" A loud sob ripped from her throat and she looked around helplessly.

"I..." She shook her head, "I can't do this. I'm coming up, please Sherlock, wait for me. Please."

"_No!_" He shouted so urgently she stopped before she even began, "_Look at me, please._"

"I am." She promised, "I never stopped."

"_I love you._" He told her and despite the deep-seated terror threatening to rip her apart, a smile tugged at her lips.

"I love you too." She whimpered.

"_Did you smile?_" He asked and she nodded weakly.

"Yes." She whispered, heartbroken and he laughed once.

"_So did I._" He told her.

And her world fell apart.


	44. Afterwards

_So... this is it. Last chapter... Thank you all for your support, it means everything to me and kept me writing... You're all wonderful, I hope you enjoy it..._

_~0~0~0~_

Faye slowly blinked, sitting up as she tried to focus, her vision a blur as she looked around the room. There were beds around the one she found herself on, each person in a slightly varying state of consciousness, some asleep and some with family around them. A hospital. She was in hospital. Why was she in hospital? She looked down at her hands, checking for the tell-tale signs of one of her more extreme episodes, finding her hands clean but the cuticles with traces of blood still on them. She pushed herself out of bed, a hand immediately flying to her stomach as a wave of nausea rushed over her to join her slightly wavy vision. She glanced around quickly again, her next thoughts telling her to find Sherlock. It seemed like a plan, so she stumbled towards the doors.

The hallway outside was full of people, nurses and visitors heading to and from rooms. She spotted a nurses station and started towards it. If Sherlock, or indeed John, were here then they'd know what had happened. And if they weren't, surely they'd let her call them. Right?

As the full area came into view she spotted John sat in one of the chairs, hand running through his hair as his eyes were closed. He had stubble, just a light covering but it was clearly there, complete with bags under his eyes that showed he hadn't slept. His face was drawn, he was upset. Deeply, truly upset.

And at the station was Mycroft, who still looked dignified but also extremely more distressed. His hand ran over his mouth in frustration as he glared at the woman behind it. And all at once, it rushed back to her. Sherlock on the phone, Sherlock telling her he loved her. Sherlock plummeting to the ground, her screaming as she and John rushed to his side. On the ground, blood under his head...

"Sherlock!" She didn't realise she'd screamed is name again, just John and Mycroft spinning to look at her. She dismissed them immediately, spinning on her heels, "I... I have to find Sherlock." She muttered, Mycroft right behind her. He pulled her to a halt, turning her back around to face him.

"No, Faye." He told her firmly and she shook her head.

"But..." She tried. He had to let her go. Maybe he was still alive? It was only a few stories, right? People had survived from higher, she was sure of it...

"No." He interrupted her thoughts, voice grief-stricken as her knees gave way and he caught her as she broke down sobbing.

_~0~0~0~_

Nothing was wrong with her physically, despite the burning in her chest and the wave upon wave of nausea that had her running to the toilets a couple of times during the visit to the hospital. She'd been prescribed some form of happy pills and sent on her way. Mycroft had wanted her to go to his, but after her furious and rather violent protests John promised that he'd look after her and took her back to Baker Street. Mrs Hudson had been in quite the state, but John would have to deal with her later. It wasn't like he was going to sleep any time soon, every time he closed his eyes...

He shook his head sharply and lead her up the stairs, pausing in the front room with his hand still grasping hers tightly.

"Where..." He coughed, his voice catching on the lump that had never disappeared from his throat, "Where do you want to go?"

"Sherlock's room." She whispered and he nodded, leading her there. She stood just in the doorway, her eyes barely seeing anything. She didn't move and curl up on the bed, which was what he'd been inspecting, nor did she collapse to the floor. She just stood there. He gave her arm a squeeze.

"I'll go fetch you some pyjamas." He explained gently. She didn't reply and after a tense moment of silence he turned and headed out, leaving her there.

"_Why didn't you want Faye to come?" John had asked him. Sherlock caught the ball he was bouncing, holding it tightly as he looked up at John._

"_Because I can't look after her anymore." He'd replied, "Promise me you will." John shook his_ _head, bewildered and slightly angered by his disregard of __his friend so completely._

"_Why should I?" John had snapped and Sherlock had turned his gaze to the ball in his hand._

"_Because I can't." He'd whispered so forlornly that John had paused in his pacing. He wasn't dismissing her at all, was he?_

At the time, John had thought it was because Sherlock had realised that his lack of expertise when it came to emotions, specifically Faye's, had meant he really didn't know what to do with her anymore, so he was handing her over to the one person he'd trusted to help her. John had actually been touched, he thought cynically as he fished out his spare keys to Faye's flat and let himself in. It wasn't that, it was because he'd been planning it all along. To leave her behind, and he'd wanted John to be there for her after he'd...

John had agreed, promised his best friend that he would look after her. So after the devastation of realising he was dead, then the anger of his stupid actions, he'd decided to keep it. First thing was to get her some pyjamas, let her sleep off the shock she was currently in. Then he was going to help her pack, because he wasn't going to let her live in this flat now Sherlock had gone. She could have his... his _old_ room. She'd spent months in there as it was, the small layer of dust in the living room showing its abandonment. It was just the two of them now, and there was no way he was going to let her out of his sight. He didn't care if it was selfish, she wasn't leaving him on his own as well.

_~0~0~0~_

As soon as the front door to 221B closed, Faye headed straight to the bedroom window, looking down at the medicine bottle in her hand for a moment before slipping the lid open and pouring the pills onto the street below. She put the lid back on and shut the window again, heading to the bedside table and placing the bottle on it. She'd been on mood-controlling medication before, remembered feeling very little whilst on them and refused to _not_ feel this. The heartbreak, the gut-wrenching uncertainty. She wanted to feel it all, and she wasn't going to put some block in the way of that. However, she also knew that to keep John from complaining she was going to have to keep the bottle to make it look like she was taking them. So, there it sat.

Her next move was to pull out all three drawers in the bedside table, chucking boxes and bits and bobs, including a rather random box of pregnancy tests as well as a yo-yo that Sherlock kept in there, onto the bed. She pulled the drawers out, checking underneath for anything that could have been hidden there. She refused to believe that his... that jumping was _not_ part of something he had been planning, and she was going to find this moronic, selfish, ill-conceived plan if it killed her. Discarding the drawers she fell to her knees, rummaging under the bed with one arm, grinning triumphantly as she heaved a small plastic box out. Opening it up she found a small collection of DVDs. Not even checking the titles, she opened each one and chucked them away after seeing they only contained discs. There was a notebook, which she pulled out and opened on the first page.

_'Title: You've Got Mail_

_Year: 1998_

_Starring: Tom Hanks, Meg Ryan_

_Pros: Focused around two book stores. _

_Cons: Badly scripted, set in New York, awful dialogue. Protagonists are idiots, Mary would instantly know who was emailing her. Romance in the fact two protagonists do not know who the other is, pointless as Mary knows who I am._

_Smiles: Non-existent. Terrible movie, terrible plot.'_

She frowned, looking at the discarded DVDs and spotting 'You've Got Mail' in it. She looked down at the book, more confused before turning the page.

_'Title: Moulin Rouge_

_Year: 2001_

_Starring: Nicole Kidman, Ewan McGregor._

_Pros: Film is a musical, Mary enjoys singing. Two fight for love despite female's obviously socially-unacceptable job. Similar to us, genders switched. Lots of kissing. Competition over female lead, makes her feel wanted._

_Cons: Can't sing, nor have the inclination to. Female lead dies, not desirable. Set in 1800's. Mary has to fake relationship with someone else._

_Smiles: Some. Male lead makes female feel desirable outside of proposition, hidden romance factor a possible 'turn-on'. Am not singing, but can incorporate music somehow. Mary enjoyed dancing?'_

_Smiles?_ She gasped, looking at the pile of DVDs again as John came into the bedroom.

"Are you okay?" He asked, alarmed at the mess she was sat in the middle of. She nodded, tears in her eyes as she stroked the page of the book.

"He was just trying to make me smile." She whispered before breaking down again.

_~0~0~0~_

The funeral ended hours ago. Or minutes, seconds, days. She wasn't entirely sure. John had left her to stare at Sherlock's grave, even though it had started to drizzle lightly. It was a blessing, really. John hadn't left her alone since they'd come back from the hospital. He needed to sleep, to rest. He was so busy looking after her, he wasn't looking after himself and it worried her. She hugged the notebook to her chest, clenching the remnants of their relationship to her chest.

"Why?" She stated out loud, "Why would you do this? How could you leave me after this?" She nodded to the book, "Please, just come back to me, Sherlock. Please don't be dead." She ran her hand through her brown hair, the natural brown roots coming through properly now. Tears dripped onto her hands, cold drops of water than mixed with the rain. She shook her head, "I love you. I always will, you arse." She laughed hollowly at herself, "I will find out why you did this. Why you let the world believe you were a fraud. And I will set it right. I just... I just don't know how, yet. But I will." And with the promise hanging in the air, she turned on her black heels and headed to the path.

Sherlock, from behind the trees he was hiding in, watched her go until he couldn't see her anymore, until her figure was a speck on the horizon. For the briefest of moments, he thought of following her. Letting her know he was okay, and that he was sorry for ever letting her go. Kissing her again, telling her that he loved her more than he even understood what to do with.

Instead, he turned, flicked his collar up on his coat, put his hands in his pockets and headed the opposite direction to the black car waiting for him.

_~0~0~0~_

_Sequel, anyone?_


	45. Can't Wait 'Til Tomorrow

_Hello peeps! I just wanted to let you know the sequel is up! It's called Can't Wait 'Til Tomorrow!_

_I'll get rid of this note in a couple of days, because chapters that are just notes bug me, but I realised I hadn't actually told any of you fine people that it's up. So... Ta Da..._


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